


But look how you care about John Watson...

by PaulineHolmes02



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Appledore, Body Dysphoria, Body Image, Charles Augustus Magnussen Being Creepy, Chubby Sherlock Holmes, Eating Disorders, First Kiss, Force-Feeding, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Sherlock Holmes, John Watson Takes Care of Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Paternal Greg Lestrade, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Sherlock Holmes Needs a Hug, To Be Edited, Tortured Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2020-10-12 18:56:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20569247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaulineHolmes02/pseuds/PaulineHolmes02
Summary: Sherlock Holmes comes back to London, but he's not welcomed the way he expects.Detective's whole life turns upside down when he's drugged and imprisoned in Appledore.After some time, he's given back, but nothing will ever be the same.





	1. Back to Baker Street

Sherlock sat in his armchair in the flat in 221B Baker Street and stared sadly into the fire, the shock and exhaustion completely transformed his face and made him look much older and vulnerable. 

His sharp cheekbones and sunken cheeks so typical for him were gone, replaced by two tiny round cushions on both sides of his face and droopy skin under his rounded jaw. 

The man let out a sigh and his back hunched, his shoulders leaned forward and his spine arched in the unhealthy angle. The change of position helped to ease the painful pressure inside his stomach, but the excess mass attached to his middle warped into rolls and spilt over his tight waistband like a big muffin.

Yes, the Only Consulting Detective in the world was lonely, broken and overweight.

Well, much more than overweight in fact...

The man in the sitting room was absolutely huge, his weight seemed to be the most striking thing in the room, sticking out like a sore thumb.

The angular and sharp places got covered by a layer of fat and his skin protruded and creased in areas where it used to be firm and flat. 

His tummy looked like a small barrel as it bulged out of his torso and crammed inside his very snug trousers, and the way his hips and bottom squeezed between armrests of the black armchair made him feel like a sardine. 

Sherlock's eyes, encircled with a row of long dense lashes and decorated with dark violet bags, sparkled unhappily when his mind decided to throw him to the herd of painful and humiliating memories he had experienced in the Appledore.

He still saw hoards of food on the big wooden table that waited for him to eat it up, he still heard the cruel laughter and nasty insults of his tormentors, he still felt the mixed food pour through the big tube right down his gullet and cumulate inside his stomach, making it bloat nearly to the point of bursting!

After two months of being exposed to the physical and psychological torture, embarrassment and loneliness he has been left on the street, attached to the pillar right in front of the Scotland Yard. 

By a happy accident, he got found when Greg and Mycroft headed to the Scotland Yard to continue in the surveillance of their lost friend and sibling. 

How surprised they were when they spotted him, sitting on the pavement in the cold weather of January for God knows how long, in dirty, ripped clothes, with a thick rope around his soft arms and flabby ballooning tummy! 

The detective knew that he should be happy and grateful that they finally found him, but he was so ashamed when he saw pure horror and surprise in Mycroft's usually emotionless eyes and consternation written in Lestrade's face. 

After those reactions, he had no courage to look at his brother again, he wouldn't be able to stand the disgust in his grey irises he feared he would see, so he just lowered his exhausted, nightmare-worn eyes and bowed his head down in shame, begging the ground to swallow him, to hide him from the degrading scene he played the main role in.

Then there was a shocked expression of Mrs Hudson when he had stumbled into the flat, leaning heavily onto his brother and Greg, not being able to stand still. His senses betrayed him completely, making him feel numb, unable to think, speak or even move. His thick legs shook like trunks in the windstorm and his knees refused to obey as they tried to send him to the floor.

His cheeks burned in embarrassment when he couldn't do anything but prop himself against two men, allow them to lead the way to the living room and let them sit him down into his armchair. 

Since then he almost hadn't moved (except occasional visits to the toilet), there was simply nothing that could cheer up the poor, traumatised and fattened detective, not even kind Mrs Hudson. 

Sherlock tore away his gaze from the dancing fire and propped on both armrests to scramble out of the armchair, feeling achy all over from corporeal punishments Magnussen has been giving him and the physical effort his body wasn't used to.

He desperately needed a shower, but the thought of stripping his clothes didn't seem tempting so he had decided to postpone it as long as he could... However, the detective's vanity and discomfort won.

Staggering a bit when his unstable legs struggled to carry him, he headed to his room first, hoping to find some clothes that would fit him at least a bit... He knew that there was very little of clothing he possessed that he could squeeze into, but he was tired of waiting for his brother to send him something, he couldn't stand the restrictive feeling anymore!

A shuddery breath escaped his lips when he opened the door and saw his room for the first time after those long agony-filled months. 

It was in the completely same state he had left it before he jumped from the Saint Bart's Hospital! 

In a few fast steps, Sherlock stormed inside and brushed his fingers across the wooden headboard of his king-size bed to make sure it wasn't just a dream! 

It wasn't, he was back in Baker Street, at home, in his bedroom with familiar green walls and a periodic table of contents, surrounded by his stuff, alive! 

But there was something missing... Someone, to be exact... 

He loved 221B, even though it was a bit untidy, with lots of stuff, but it was their home, cosy and snug. 

' HIS home', he corrected himself when he remembered that it was just him now... 

At this realisation, his enthusiasm faded away like steam and the flat suddenly seemed empty and cold. 

Because it was mainly his flatmate who had given this place a magical atmosphere. Because he really WANTED to share the flat with him and somehow managed to live here even despite Yarders' warnings... 

Becoming aware of the fact that John had his own life now, without him, resulted a painful sting in his stomach. 

" Why would I needs friends anyway?" He snapped, annoyed with himself for being so sentimental - the sentiment was the last thing he needed, after all, it was the cause of this mess in the first place...

But even despite these gloomy thoughts, he bent down on his knees and scrabbled with his long arm under the bed, hoping that the thing he was looking for stayed hidden away from Mrs Hudson and John. 

His fingers curled around the soft woollen material and Sherlock almost sighed in relief. But as soon as he perceived that this "stolen", baggy sweater was the only thing he had after his first and only best friend, his throat tightened.

The detective clutched the soft woollen top in his fists, brought it up to his chest and buried his nose into the fabric, sniffing its scent. It smelt like dust and home, but what was important - it smelt like John. It was very faint, but he could still recognise the musky fragrance of John's aftershave. 

He had to blink a few times and his eyes stung as if he got hit by a pepper spray. 

What was wrong with him? It was just a stupid jumper, it shouldn't have affected him like this! 

Sherlock wrinkled his nose in disgust when he realised how pathetic he must look right now, bending on the floor and sniffing his former flatmate's jumper like some dumped puppy... 

He threw the jumper on his bed, rose up on his feet with some effort and started to look for something he could wear. Taking his loosest pyjama bottoms from underneath his pillow and a pair of black underpants from the chest of drawers, he walked out of his bedroom and made his way to the bathroom. 

* * *

The detective didn't even bother with switching on the light, (the last thing he wanted to see was his naked, swollen body) and started to strip off the restrictive clothes he was wearing. 

The pair of ripped, dirty trousers ended in the corner of the bathroom, soon accompanied by a tore buttonless shirt and underwear, all prepared to be thrown away to the bin.

Then Sherlock found the shower enclosure, stepped inside and closed the glass door. He turned on the water and soon the bathroom was filled with the comforting dripping sound. The hot water flowed down his body, the pleasantly warm stream loosening his flexed muscles. 

The shaken man felt himself melting, the physical tension caused by the traumatic experience rose from his shoulders like the hot steam which flew around him. 

Standing there like that, pouring at himself almost the whole boiler, felt like being himself again, the warm shower worked wonders. The only thing that was missing was his best friend who always knocked on the door and complained about the bill of water consumption. 

Just like three years ago, when he solved the interesting case and heard the loud knocking on the door of the bathroom, followed by John's voice grumbling about the water consumption. 

Sherlock smiled at the thought of his best friend, but as he massaged the expensive shampoo in his hair and sensitive scalp, gloomy thoughts creeped into his head. 

Maybe it was better that John didn't live here anymore, there was no way he could face him while looking like this... 

Slowly but surely, the water started to grow cold and it was time to wash the lather out of his hair and climb out. 

Sherlock dried himself and attempted to put on his sweatpants, but they didn't even reach his waist. The legs of the bottoms hardly reached the midway of his thighs and refused to be dragged higher. 

He threw them away with a nasty curse. The detective rarely swore, but this time he was entitled.

Reconciled with the fact that he will have to walk around the flat just in the sheet, Sherlock wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the door. 

He was caught by surprise when he found a pile of clothes in front of the bathroom. 

* * *

" Let me guess... Mycroft sent you..." Sherlock said in a tight and calculating voice when he came out of the bathroom, finally fully and properly clothed. 

Greg Lestrade rolled his eyes at the plump detective who waddled towards his armchair and sat down, doing his best to avoid staring. 

It had been almost twelve hours since he and Mycroft found him, but he still tended to forget how large Sherlock became. It was alarming if you realised that he had put on more than a hundred pounds just in two months! 

" You're welcome..." Greg replied, trying to lighten the atmosphere a bit. 

However, it had no effect... Sherlock ruffled his damp black hair and gave him an uninterested look. " You can tell him that I don't need a babysitter..."

The Detective Inspector sighed and made a few careful steps towards the man as if he was approaching the wild animal. " Sherlock, I've already told you that I don't just do what your brother tells me. I'm here because I'm worried about you...

" You've last seen me in the morning, do you think something has changed?" Sherlock scowled in Greg's direction, what did he expect? Did he think that all the weight he had gained just walked away?! 

" It could have... I know you, Sherlock... Do you have anything?" Lestrade asked and hoped the detective wasn't high. He still saw the young, tall, scrawny detective sitting on the pavement with a syringe in his right forearm, his pale skin glowing in the night. That was the first time he met him and he never stopped wishing to get him to know under more cheerful circumstances than confronting him for using drugs. 

Sherlock folded his doughy arms over his chest. " I'm clean if that's what you're asking about... Well, if that's all, you can go home now. And tell my brother that he doesn't have to worry..." He said, his voice seemingly neutral as if he was trying to prove him that there's nothing wrong with him. 

" Sherlock, stop acting like a brat, I'm checking to see if you're alright..." He said a bit more harsh than he intended to and as soon those words escaped his mouth, he wanted to bite off his tongue. 

A bitter, unhappy chuckle bubbled through Sherlock's lips and the look in his eyes hardened. " You don't have to bother. I don't need your help and especially not your pity!" Sherlock spat out and clenched his plump fingers into fists as he tried to suppress his feelings. 

" Sherlock..."

But the detective didn't listen, he rose up from the armchair and started to pace around the living room like a man man. " My dear brother must be enjoying this! Because he's finally the thinner one, am I right? 

Because the brilliant Sherlock Holmes is fat like a pig for slaughter, you can tell him that he got what he wanted!" He was almost screaming now, his hands were shaking and the period between inhales and exhales were significantly shorter than it was considered as normal.

In a few fast strides, the grey-haired policeman blocked Sherlock's way and tried to think of the fastest way to calm down his stressed friend before he'll collapse. 

" Sherlock, for once - please, stop acting like a child and let me finish. You've got it absolutely wrong... No one is going to make fun of you, your brother is simply concerned about your health and safety..."

Sherlock finally stopped in his march and bit his lower lip when realised that he was acting like a lunatic. 

Bowing his head down, he took a sad look at the overhanging belly he had developed under the strict uncompromising supervision of his tormentor. 

" He can mock me..." He said almost in a whisper, and he sounded oddly reconciled. " He's entitled, I've been insulting him his whole childhood and in his adulthood too..." 

Lestrade put his hands on Sherlock's broadened shoulders and waited for him to raise his head and look him in the face.

" Shush... Don't talk like that, don't upset yourself even more... He really cares about you we all do... We're not leaving you alone in this mess..." He promised and gave both Sherlock's shoulders a light squeeze, meaning every word he said. 

" I don't want to be a burden..." Sherlock whispered and dropped the stone mask he wore the whole time, revealing how broken, shaken and exhausted he was. 

Greg rubbed his left shoulder and stroked the place between his neck and trapeze with his thumb. " You aren't... Sherlock, do you really think that I'm friends with you only because you solve crimes for me?"

The younger Holmes looked him in the face, and Greg's heart clenched when he saw a genuine surprise in those big blue-green eyes that sparkled in the evening shadows and light from the fireplace. 

As it seemed, he really thought so. Greg knew that the Consulting Detective never had many friends, but he really didn't expect him to think so little about himself and the people around him. What had they done to him?

Sherlock shivered under Lestrade's incredulous gaze and he was about to put on his typical I-don't-care look when the pair of strong arms wrapped around his bulky torso and pressed him into a bear hug. 

" Come here, you silly man..." Lestrade whispered and began to rub Sherlock's back. 

Sherlock gasped and his instincts were screaming at him to pull away. But he didn't want to. He would never say that out loud, but he craved for some positive physical contact after such a long time of being tortured and lonely. 

To his own surprise, he threw his arms around Greg's neck and and a massive sob found a way out of his throat.

Big hot tears rolled down Sherlock's chubby cheeks and leaked into Lestrade's jacket, but Greg didn't mind, he just tightened his embrace and let the weeping detective rest his curly head on his shoulder. 

Sherlock squeezed the black fabric on Greg's back in his fists and tried to suppress the flood of emotions, but the more he tried, the worse it was. 

After a few unsuccessful attempts to calm down, he finally gave his emotions a free hand and released the bitter sobs from his tight throat. 

His breathing quivered and hitched in his chest, making his hefty tummy jump against Greg's stomach like a water balloon, and weepy sniffs echoed through the living room into the whole flat. 

The DI Lestrade listened to the gut-wrenching noises with sad face, it sounded so WRONG! Sherlock wasn't supposed to be crying, he should be working on some disgusting experiment, solving a murder or doing the other typical things Sherlock Holmes would do two years ago! 

One of his hands ran across Sherlock's shaking back and gently squeezed the nape of his neck, while the other one still remained wrapped around his wide waist. 

" Hey... It's going to be okay... I understand that you feel bad, but tomorrow will be better, you'll see..." 

He whispered, feeling uncertain. What was he supposed to say to make his friend feel better? He knew him for eight years, but even despite that, he knew so little about him... 

They just stood there like this for God knows how long, but Greg didn't care. Sherlock was his friend and even though the detective himself believed he was an emotionless git, the DI knew that he still needs a comfort.

" I'm so sorry..." Sherlock hiccuped and pulled out, embarrassed that he had let it go so far. He wiped his face with a back of his hand and rubbed his puffy red eyes, feeling incredibly exposed and vulnerable. After all, Sherlock has never cried in front of anyone. 

To a certain extent, it was because of his vanity and pride, but he knew it could be a good weapon against him. And he knew plenty of of people who would enjoy to see him in pain... But Greg wasn't like that, was he? 

Greg gave him a sad smile, it wasn't difficult to tell what was the detective thinking about. " It's okay, Sherlock... Everyone needs a good hug sometimes... Even High-Functioning Sociopaths..." He said, took out a pack of paper tissues from the pocket of his jacket and handed it to his sniffing friend. 

Sherlock accepted it gratefully and blew his nose. " Thank you, Greg... I'll make some tea... " He said and headed to the kitchen to put the kettle on. 

He listened to the gurgling noises the boiling liquid made and drummed his fingers on the worktop. He had to admit that he felt bit better after Greg's emotional support, of course, it didn't make his horrible memories magically go away, but after a long time, he felt like somebody got his back and cared about him. 

When the water was almost seething, Sherlock reached up for two mugs from the cupboard and was about to put them on the kitchen unit and when - 

" Sherlock?!" 

The asked one froze when he realised that the voice behind him DIDN'T belong to the DI Lestrade. 

In a shock and surprise, the detective turned around and both cups fell out of his hand, shattering on the kitchen tiles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> I don't even know why I am writing this, especially when I'm suffering from anorexia, but it feels like a therapy to me. Actually, I quite enjoy writing chubby Sherly, I hope you don't mind.  
What do you think? Don't you find it too crazy? Should I continue?
> 
> Yours,  
PaulineHolmes02


	2. Withdrawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys! Welcome to my new chapter!
> 
> I would like to thank you for your beautiful comments, you cheered me up and boosted me to write, you're awesome:)
> 
> Hope you like it!

" Sherlock?!" 

In a shock and surprise, the detective turned around and both cups fell out of his hands, shattering on the kitchen tiles. 

That moment resembled a scene from some movie as if the time stopped for a while and the porcelain broke into pieces. 

But John paid no attention to the shattered dish, he was busy with staring at his best friend with wide, astounded eyes. 

He had expected a lot when Mycroft asked him to help his little brother. But never this...

It was him, without a doubt, Sherlock's scared eyes of a deer in headlights were looking at him from his scared face. From much softer and fuller face than John remembered, with round cheeks and little double chin. 

Even despite John's will, his gaze slid down to the rest of the detective's body and he did everything he could to hold in a gasp. 

It was his belly what first caught his attention - with its size reminiscent of the pillow stuffed underneath the big jumper it couldn't be missed. But it wasn't a pillow, under a closer look John could see a sliver of pale bulged skin peeking between the hem of the snug black top and elastic waistband of the gray sweatpants. 

The detective's shoulders broadened significantly, the arms and legs thickened and the once jutting hipbones hid under a layer of fat. 

One would never believe that the body belonged to Sherlock Holmes. 

" You're staring, it's annoying..."

The monotone voice said and John quickly tore off his eyes from the detective's fuller figure, looking up into Sherlock's face. For a fragment of second he spotted insecurity in those expressive eyes, but it could be just an imagination - because Sherlock's eyes immediately narrowed into a controlled and reserved expression and his lips pressed into a tight line, draining of blood. 

" Sorry, I didn't mean to..." John's cheeks blushed and he felt like a teenager who had just been caught snogging with a girl... 

Sherlock folded his arms on his broadened chest and smirked, but his eyes remained hard and cold. " Of course you did, you're curious... Well, you can have always wanted to put 'a bit of meat' on my bones, is this enough?" He asked through gritted teeth. 

The doctor did his best to get control over his face and opened his mouth to say something, but before he had time to utter a word, the detective continued. 

" And what are you doing here? No, don't answer that, I know exactly why you're here... This is Mycroft's work, isn't it? Why can't he just let me be, I'm adult, not an invalid, I'm well capable of taking care of myself! I don't need him to poke his big nose into my business and make decisions for me! I don't need all of you fuss over me, I'm not made from porcelain! So turn around, both of you, and leave me alone!"

He snapped venomously and with the rest of his dignity, he passed around his shocked friend and vanished into his room, slamming the door behind with such strength they almost tore off the hinges. 

John's mouth opened in surprise and he stared at the closed door of Sherlock's bedroom. Friend's behaviour was so unSherlockish - John was already used to his sulking, but this was different, the detective rarely got THAT angry... 

A sudden contact startled him and only really firm nerves stopped his military reflexes from punching the person in the face. Turning around, he found the DI Lestrade standing next to him, holding his shoulder to calm him down. 

" Give him some time, John..." He said, nodding towards the the room where Sherlock disappeared. 

John's shoulders relaxed and he let out a sigh. " What happened? I don't understand anything..."

Greg gave his friend concerned look and shook his head. " I'm not the one who can tell you this... Sherlock doesn't want to talk about it and we have to respect that. Maybe we should just let him calm down, y'know, let him return back to his life..."

John shoved his hands into pockets of his jeans, feeling bad for his first reaction. " I didn't mean to stare and make him uncomfortable... I was just so-"

" Surprised, yeah, I know..." Greg finished, knowing very well what was John talking about. It was hard to believe that Sherlock Holmes was just a human after all...

" It's a bit strange I have to admit, but we will have to get used to it... 

Look, he may be a 'High-Functioning Sociopath', but he isn't as strong as he looks like... He cares about what people think, even though he says he doesn't."

John couldn't help himself but think how paternal Greg looked right now, he would never have thought how much the DI cared about their Consulting Detective. " I know..." He nodded and they both paused in their thoughts. 

Greg ruffled his silver hair . Sherlock liked to have John back. He may not show it, but Greg knew that the detective was really glad to see him. And so was John. 

He almost growled in frustration - how come they couldn't see that?! 

It seemed that almost everyone around them knew, they were the only ones who had no idea... 

It was so OBVIOUS from the way boys acted around each other, from their exchanged looks and admirable nonverbal communication - the duo understood each other as no one other did.

But Greg knew that Sherlock won't be able to confess his feelings - he has always had problems with emotions, holding a view that 'caring is not an advantage'. And that goes twice for now... 

The detective's vanity and lack of relationships caused his self-esteem dwindle significantly and increased the fear of being rejected. God knows what he was told during his absence... 

Of course, there was many people who judged others just because of the way they looked like, but Greg knew that John Watson wasn't one of them, John would never abandon people he loves. 

Returning back to the reality, Greg cleared his throat and tidied his jacket. 

" Well, I gotta go, will you both be OK?" 

" Yeah, sure, don't worry. I'll just text Mary that I'm staying here..." John answered and took out his phone to let his girlfriend know that he will stay here for some time. 

The DI nodded. " 'right... Good luck, boys..." With that last sentence he turned on his heels and left Baker Street. 

* * *

John grabbed the dustpan and a broom from the cabinet in the kitchen and bent down to sweep shattered pieces of the porcelain from the kitchen floor. Tiny sharp fragments cracked under his shoes and he was really careful to clean them all, well aware that Sherlock walks barefoot very often. 

When the floor seemed to be safe to stomp at, he rose up on his feet and threw the mess in the bin. 

Turning around, he took a look at the kitchen, finally seeing it properly.

The kitchen was suspiciously clean and tidy - there were no signs of disgusting experiments on the kitchen table, the dishes were cleaned, chairs meticulously pushed to the table. It must have been Mrs Hudson, because he doubted the detective actually knew what was the broom used for... 

His eyes stopped at the fridge and he remembered Sherlock's new form.

John would be lying if he said that he wasn't shaken by the way his friend looked now. He almost didn't recognise him at first, only his luxuriant black hair disclosed who the man in front of him was. 

What the hell was going on? He felt so confused, as always, he's been out of the picture... 

As it seemed, Greg and Mycroft knew about Sherlock's new condition, why didn't they tell him then? A little warning would be useful... 

He had last seen him two months ago, when the detective sneaked back in his life and interrupted his date just at moment he was about to propose to his girlfriend, ruining one of the most important days of John's life. 

John had to admit that pinning him to the floor and punching him in the face wasn't the best way to welcome his friend whom he hasn't seen for two years, but he would be more understanding if Sherlock was more sensitive. Because coming into the restaurant in a disguise of waiter and mocking a grieving man for his mustache (okay, it WAS disgusting, but John simply didn't care about it - nothing mattered to him anymore, because his best friend was dead!) was definitely a bit not good. 

What could have happened to leave his friend in this state? 

It was impossible to put on so much weight in such a short time, not to mention that Sherlock had always been in control! There were times he even forgot to eat completely, and John was there for him to remind him that he's a human being and he needs nutrition. 

And he never forgot to point out that Mycroft had gained weight - the teasing about his diets was a daily occurrence... 

A shiver ran through his spine. What if he was ill?! 

Some medication could cause a weight gain, but the detective didn't seem to have any symptoms of diseases which required that type of pills. 

_Maybe it was just a 'comfort eating'? _

Everybody deals with the unpleasant emotions in different ways. Someone becomes withdrawn, someone needs to have a company, someone loses their appetite and on the contrary someone seeks the solace in food. 

_Could this be Sherlock's case? _

It didn't seem credible to him, he knew the man well - Sherlock dealt with stress with much more creative methods - shooting the wall or playing wild compositions on his beloved violin were ones of his favourite... 

Whatever had caused that, the last two months must have been very hard for Sherlock. And John wouldn't allow him to be sad. He wasn't going to lose him, not again... 

Sherlock was alive, and whether he was thin or fleshy wasn't important to him!

With this decision, he turned to the kitchen unit and put the kettle on. Perhaps the nice hot cup of tea could cheer him up... 

* * *

John made his way towards Sherlock's room and stopped in front of the door. He gulped and hesitated with a raised fist to knock. Why was he so nervous?

_'Come on, Watson, pull yourself together! You're a soldier!'_ He thought and was about to knock on the wood when his phone beeped and announced an incoming text. Digging his hand in the pocket of his jeans, he took out his phone and frowned at the screen.

**Stop shuffling around and ask - SH**

John's brows furrowed even more and he shifted his weight to the left. 

" Are you okay? Why are you texting?" 

Another beep. 

**I don't want to talk, obviously - SH**

This was serious. John remembered the warning Sherlock gave him the first time they met.

_'I play the violin when I'm thinking and sometime I don't talk for days on end.'_

John was already used to Sherlock's sulking moods, but this was different, it seemed almost like Sherlock was scared of him... 

" Sherlock, this is ridiculous... Open the door, please..." He knew that there was an even chance that Sherlock would let him in that quickly, but he had to try everything. 

Beep. 

**No - SH**

John sighed heavily. He hoped that the apology will work, he wanted to show him how much he regrets everything he has done to him. " Sherlock, if it's about what happened in that restaurant, I'm sorry... I've never meant to hit you..." His words were interrupted by another notification. 

Beep. 

Beep.

Beep.

**No, it's not that - SH**

**It's nothing you've done - SH**

**But it's fine - SH**

John rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was as if he was talking to a child, how could this man be so stubborn?! 

" No, it's not! Could you just let me examine you? I just want to make sure that you're not injured..."

He said in a pleading voice, the detective was giving him worries - the doctor knew that he won't sleep well if he doesn't make sure that Sherlock has no internal problems. 

Beep. 

Beep. 

**No - SH**

**Not you - SH**

The former soldier felt a sting in his chest, his friend was definitely afraid of him. But whatever his problem was, he wasn't going to let it go. He let out a grunt, defeated.

" Fine... I'm sorry, Sherlock, but I'm calling Mycroft... You have to be examined, and since you won't let me, you will be checked by a professional..." 

John really didn't want to include Mycroft, but as it seemed, it was inevitable. He knew that he couldn't force his friend to do something he didn't want to, but something HAD to be done. 

Beep. 

Beep. 

Beep. 

**Fine - SH**

**Leave me alone - SH**

**Please **

John let out a deep breath and nodded, oblivious to the fact that the detective could not see it. " Whatever you say... I just wanted you to know that I would be glad if you kept me a company... Well, if you need me, I'll be in my room..." Taking a last concerned glance at the door, the army doctor headed to his room on the first floor, giving Sherlock some space to get used to the situation. 

* * *

Sherlock let out the breath he didn't even know he was holding and collapsed on his big comfy bed, laying back on the soft mattress. He covered his face with his hands and closed his eyes as he let out a quiet groan of frustration. 

How could he do that to him?! He knew that his brother could be a pain in the butt, but he never expected him to be THAT cruel. Mycroft knew very well that Sherlock doesn't want John to see him like this (because his stupid big brother always knows everything!) and yet he still sent John to 'check if he's alright'! Sherlock grimaced at the irony of that statement, damn Mycroft and his stupid power complex!

But why did John listen to him? He didn't have to be there, Mycroft would be stupid if he held the soldier somewhere against his will - after all, everyone has an instinct of self-preservation... 

The only other reason Sherlock could think of was a Hippocratic Oath - John was a doctor and his pride didn't allow him to treat his patient badly. 

Sherlock chuckled unhappily, this was it... Why would John ever care about him? Why would he waste his time with annoying, insufferable and rude git who did nothing but showed off with his intelligence? With a man who could be easily replaced - like so many times before...

The detective let his hands slide down his face and scowled in disgust at his belly which towered above him like a little hill, distended even despite the laying position. 

Sherlock gritted his teeth as the sudden wave of self-loathing stormed through him and settled on his chest. The rapidly growing anger bubbled under his pale skin like a boiling water and threatened to burst out in a form of tantrum. 

He wanted to scream, to yell his lungs out of his body! 

He wanted to scratch his skin raw with his own nails! 

He wanted to poke his eyes out so he wouldn't be able to see how horrible he had become! 

The upset detective sprung into a sitting position and suddenly it became too much. 

He felt sick of the large cushion of fat that occupied his lap, of his bum that spread under his weight, of his fleshy thighs that squeezed together and brushed against each other when he was walking! 

He couldn't stand the sight of his hands with fingers similar to tiny sausages which used to be thin, delicate and elegant.

And the annoying unbearable itching of healing of scars on his back kept driving him insane! 

The fury still raged inside him and showed no signs of stopping soon. Sherlock knew that he had to do something before he goes mad. Throwing his legs against the edge of the bed, he got up on his feet and started to pace around the room. 

He shoved his shaking hands into pockets of his sweatpants and tried to calm down. 

It was pointless. 

Sherlock's breathing rapidly changed into gasps for air, a feeling of being strangled wrapped around his neck and he was dangerously close to the hyperventilation. 

Suddenly he stopped as if someone has pressed the 'pause' button. He had he spotted his reflection in the mirror...

Unable to control himself anymore, Sherlock grabbed the first thing that came to his reach and hurled it against the door of his wardrobe. 

The bedside lamp met the glossy surface with a loud crack and the satisfying sound of shattering glass filled the room. The lamp hit the floor, soon accompanied by the big mirror which tumbled from the frame on Sherlock's wardrobe and smashed into sharp fragments. 

As Sherlock stared at the mess he has done, the sick feeling and the exhaustion after almost three days lack of sleep took hold of him. With a last disgusted glance at the pile on the ground, he collapsed into his bed and curled into a tight ball, finally falling into a restless slumber. 


	3. The Dinner

Two days have passed, but there was no improvement - if anything, it seemed it was getting worse. The detective didn't leave his room except for the bathroom, concealing himself in the safety of green walls and science posters. 

He only left his bedroom when he needed a shower or use the toilet, grateful for a spare door to the bathroom right next to his bed.   
After the fiasco with mirror, Sherlock came to the conclusion that it's pointless to take a shower with light switched off, he already knew what to expect. However it didn't mean that he would accept himself. He avoided touching himself as much as possible, even the smallest contact with his doughy skin sent shivers through his spine, and he was very careful to not catch his reflection on shiny flat surfaces - John wouldn't be happy if they had to buy new windows, not to mention Mrs Hudson...

But Sherlock wasn't proud of himself, he knew that he was acting like a coward, hiding from his best friend as if he was about to hurt him. 

He had no idea what he had ever done to deserve such a great and kind human being as John Watson was. The good doctor somehow managed to stay even though Sherlock still 'sulked' in his room, refusing to poke out his head from his shelter.   
Every few hours John knocked on the door of Sherlock's bedroom to check on him and ask if everything is alright, only to receive a quick text from the man inside that **he's fine - SH**. 

_'Alone is what I have, alone protects me...'_

His long-standing motto started to lose its effectiveness. The seclusion of the room protected him, but at the same time deepened the feeling of loneliness, inferiority and misery and the longer alone he was, the more lost he felt. 

The detective was sitting on his bed and tried to pull himself together after the appointment with Doctor Brown - Mycroft had sent him to make sure that his 'baby brother' isn't ill - John wasn't kidding when threatened him with telling his big, all-knowing sibling... 

Brown was a kind-hearted older man with graying hair, friendly, tanned face and thick glasses, but even despite his good-natured personality, he had to tell him the truth. The honest, unpleasant truth and Sherlock had to face it. 

Beside the very significant weight gain, Sherlock suffered from a higher blood pressure and there were also some breathing problems connected with the lack of condition, but the doctor said that it should get better as soon as he drops some pounds.  
Also, an appointment with dentist would be a good idea, his teeth weren't in a good condition, it was just a matter of time before it starts to cause trouble. His nastily scarred back was treated, but if would need a new bandage in a few days. Fortunately (and almost by a miracle) there were no internal problems, except for his stomach which was distended in a very aggressive way and would hinder detective's efforts to lose weight. 

A loud rumbling noise echoed through the room and confirmed the above mentioned words. Sherlock whimpered through his tight shut lips and curled around his belly, clutching his painfully contracting, empty stomach in his hands.   
John's constant attempts to make him eat weren't successful, he left the plate on the doorstep, but the detective never touched it. And the hunger pain was the result. 

Sherlock sighed in relief when his hungry stomach calmed down again and he ran his hand through his black well-cultivated hair, glad that at least his dark curls were spared the damage. Quite the opposite in fact, the quality of them got maybe even better with the new diet he was forced to follow during his time in Appledore.   
Maybe far too much - his locks had grown like a weed. It wasn't as bad as when he had come back from Serbia (he could be mistaken for a woman back then), but it wouldn't hurt to have them shortened. 

Unfortunately, that would mean that he would have to leave the flat, and he wasn't prepared to do so... 

But maybe he could join John in the kitchen? He really missed him, his face, his voice, his smile. It's been a long time since he had seen him smile which was such a pity... 

Before he could stop himself, he got up from the bed and headed to the door. 

To the battle... 

* * *

The steady banging of the knife against the chopping board echoed through the whole kitchen as John prepared the dinner. He stood at the kitchen unit and skillfully chopped the vegetables before he threw it into the bowl. However, it was surprising that he had all his fingers left, because his head roamed somewhere completely else. 

The uncertainty of what was going on with that lunatic genius preyed on his mind and created the most horrible scenarios, one worse than the other.   
He was so worried about the detective, the man didn't leave his room for two days and remained hidden no matter how much John had tried to convince him to accompany him. That was what hurt the most - Sherlock didn't want to be in his company and rather texted him so he didn't have to talk to him. 

Mary assured him that he's okay, but Jonn didn't believe that, she didn't know him the way he did, how could she know how Sherlock felt?

Why would he hide from him? Was it because of Sherlock's new bulk?   
John didn't understand that, he was a doctor - he has seen a lot of injuries and the excess weight was nothing compared to them.   
But what mattered the most, he was his FRIEND. He cared about the crazy detective like nobody else, he would do almost anything for him (he had killed for him to save his life, how many people can say that?) and he would never judge him for the way he looked like.

" Stop thinking so loudly... I'm not ill nor dying, if that's what you're scared of..." 

John jumped in surprise at the deep baritone somewhere behind him and he was glad that he hadn't cut off his hand together with the tomato.   
Turning around, he found his friend standing in the doorframe, leaning against it nonchalantly, wearing black sweatpants and grey short-sleeved t-shirt. The doctor didn't have to be genius to see what a pretence it was and how much effort it had to cost him to leave his room. 

Despite that, the sight of his (former) flatmate raised the corners of John's lips in a smile.  
" Oh, so you finally found out how to speak again?" He said cheerfully, it felt so good to see him again. 

" The room became too dull..." Sherlock replied and nodded towards the hall heading to his bedroom. " How come you're still here?" He asked, quite surprised. He knew that John stayed, but he couldn't tell why... Anyway, it didn't matter. It was just a matter of time before John goes back to his life with Mary and forgets about him... And he wouldn't blame him - after all, John needed adrenaline, adventure and excitement, and Sherlock couldn't offer him these things anymore. 

John blinked in a confusion and then his face fell. " Well... Oh, sorry, if you want me to go, I'll - " His voice trailed off and his shoulders tensed visibly. 

" No! That's not why I said that..." Sherlock almost yelped, he really didn't want to drive him away! He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a bit uncomfortable, he had always been bad with emotions...  
" I'm glad you have stayed... But if you're here just because of something Mycroft had said-" 

John's eyes widened, and if it wasn't such a serious situation, it would be quite funny... That idiot couldn't be serious, could he?   
" What? I'm not here because of Mycroft, Sherlock, I'm here because of you! Because I want to. Do you understand?"

Sherlock didn't seem very convinced but nodded. John has never lied to him, why would he say these things if they weren't true? Perhaps he was just being polite and nice.   
'Or maybe you're thinking far too much, brother mine...' Said Mycroft's voice in his Mind Palace. 

Well, whatever it was, John was still here and he didn't seem bothered by Sherlock's company, that was all Sherlock needed to know. 

" Great... Now, since we cleared this up, can you set the table? The dinner will be in twenty minutes..." Then John took a look at detective's head and disapprovingly clicked his tongue. " And then we have to do something about your hair, you look like an unkempt poodle..." He chuckled and he could swear that he saw detective's lips twitch a bit, but the gesture didn't reach his eyes. 

* * *

Unfortunately, Sherlock's mood changed like a spring weather.  
The black-haired man just sat on the chair and glared daggers on his vegetable salad, this was the exact thing he wanted to avoid. Eating itself didn't sound appealing to him, but eating in front of John? Maybe he should have stayed in his room, what was he thinking? 

" Sherlock? What's the matter?" John asked the silent detective and once again he wished he had at least a part of his deduction skills so he could tell what was wrong.   
He took a concerned look at his friend and he wasn't happy with what he saw. Sherlock's face was white as a sheet and deep purple bags sat under his tired eyes like a large bruises. It was evident that the detective hadn't slept well lately...   
" You can't skip meals, your body needs energy..." He objected softly. 

Sherlock wanted to say that he's not hungry, but that was a very transparent lie, even for John... But maybe if he ignored him, the soldier would let him be...

Unfortunately for him, John wasn't prepared to give up. " Look, you should eat regularly, otherwise it can cause more harm than good..." 

Sherlock's tongue itched to remark that it COULDN'T GET worse than it already was, but he swallowed it.   
" If I eat it, will you stop fussing?"   
He snapped at him with cold and neutral face, but he felt scared inside. His own body was betraying him, his long-standing friend had never let him down before. He's always been in control, his figure slim no matter how irregularly and what he ate. 

With a repulsed frown he took a fork and impaled a piece of lettuce. He glared daggers at the fork and tried to suppress the wave of panic when he brought it up to his lips. Then before he could change his mind, he stuck the piece of food in his mouth and started to chew.   
He was starving! His stomach ached and produced sounds he had no idea it was possible and he just wanted it to stop.   
The hungry detective wolfed down piece after piece, and the stomachache began to withdraw as his empty stomach started to fill. He had to admit that John was a good cook - his food tasted so differently from the excessively sugary, greasy and and filling mucks. 

What a surprise it was when the fork scratched against the porcelain. Raven-haired detective immediately woke up from the lethargy and his heart jumped in shock at the sight of an empty plate.

" Are you finished?" John asked nonchalantly, as if nothing has happened. 

Sherlock jerked at the sound of John's voice and nodded curtly. " Yep."  
However, his belly held a different opinion and complained in a form of deep rumble. The blood rushed to Sherlock's round cheeks, he had to look so greedy in John's eyes! 

John didn't look convinced, there was no way he could have missed the sound of hunger coming from Sherlock's belly. " Are you sure? I think your stomach says otherwise..."

" It can go to Hell then!" Sherlock exclaimed suddenly and startled John and even himself. He has just devoured the whole serving, how could he still feel hungry?!

The former soldier let out a sigh and covered Sherlock's wrist with his hand. " Sherlock, it's fine... I had the exactly same portion like you, and it wasn't a lot... It's just vegetables and bit of meat - if you're hungry, have some more!" He said, unaware of the disaster his sentence could cause. 

* * *

_" I hope you're still hungry, Sherly... Because I have loads of good food prepared for you and your greedy tummy..." Magnussen said in a sweet grandpa-like voice and rubbed Sherlock's growing belly. He was delighted by his progress - the detective swelled almost in front of their very eyes... It was just a matter of time before the snug shirt tears apart and his trousers didn't seem much better, the restrictive waistband must have caused his captive a great discomfort. _

_" Have some more, piggy, you're still so thin..."_   
  
_Have some more? How the hell he was supposed to eat one more bite when his stuffed stomach already felt like bursting? _

_Sherlock shook his head and his face gained an unhealthy green colour from the fatty meal which made him sluggish and apathetic. _   
_He could feel the bile rise in his throat and it wasn't just from the food. The wrinkled sweaty hand on his belly made him feel sick maybe even more than the food itself. Sherlock has never been a tactile person, there was only a few people he allowed a physical contact. But this disgusting old codger wasn't one of them! _

_At this unsatisfactory reply, Magnussen raised his hand to strike and delivered Sherlock's belly a nasty punch. " I said have some more!" _

* * *

**" NO!" **  
Sherlock jerked so wildly that he almost fell off the chair and he looked as if he was about to get beaten. 

" Sherlock?!" 

A flicker of horror ran through Sherlock's eyes, but just for a second, a moment later his facial features hardened with anger.   
" Stop it, John! What do you want me to do?! Eat and eat until I burst like a balloon?!" He snarled and yanked out his hand from John's grip before his curled his fingers into fists. 

John just stared at him with wide eyes and he wasn't able to speak. He knew it was a metaphor, but something in Sherlock's voice and body language made his hair stand on end.   
" Sherlock..." He finally spoke, but it came rather raspy. Clearing his throat, he continued. " I said no such thing... I just don't want you to be hungry... Look, it will take some time before your stomach accommodates to smaller amount of food, but you have to take things slowly..." 

" Take things slowly? And how the hell am I supposed to do that? My body betrays me! I feel like a complete stranger to myself! But why am I saying this to you? I have to go now..." Sherlock stood up abruptly and turned his back on John. 

" Sherlock, wait!"

But Sherlock didn't stop, he wanted to get away, back to the safety of his room where no one could judge him! He wanted to close this whole debate before it gets out of control! " Let it go, John, it's no big deal..." He said in a forced calm voice, only pouring oil in the flames. 

" Yes, it is! You're scaring me, Sherlock! I don't recognise you anymore!"   
John raised his voice without even realising it, he just wanted to understand! With a speed of cheetah, he jumped out of his place and in a few strides closed the distance between them, grabbing Sherlock's shoulder and turning him around so he could see his face. 

At that time the raven-haired man lost his temper and flared up, he needed nobody's pity! " Since when do you care? You didn't give a damn then, so why now?!" Sherlock shrieked, tore away from soldier's grasp and he was about to turn on his heel and run away when he got stopped by doctor's angry voice. 

" I just needed some time to process everything, Sherlock! Because when the man, who died in front of my very eyes suddenly appears in London as if nothing has happened is really bit not good! Do you have any idea how horrible those two years have been for me?! What I went through?! How miserable I felt? I guess you don't!" He growled through gritted teeth. Just saying these words sent him back to times when he felt like an utter mess, to days filled with much bigger loneliness and shock than he had ever witnessed - and he thought he was in bad state when he returned from Afghanistan. 

Sherlock really didn't want to fight with him, but he felt a strange urge to defend himself. He would never regret what he had done, no matter how John will blame him for it. He saved John's life and he wouldn't have been successful if John had known about that plan...   
Okay, maybe the part where he came to the restaurant and ruined John's romantic dinner wasn't a thing he would be proud of, (za rámeček by si to nedal) not to mention that teasing about his horrible mustache... He just wanted to see his friend smile after such a long time of separation. 

" Do you think it has been holidays for me?! That destroying Moriarty's web all alone in foreign countries was a piece of cake? Or these two months in- " The detective immediately cooled down and fell silent when he realised that he almost let the cat out of the bag. He's been just one step away from blabbing out everything he tried to hide!

Soldier's anger faded as soon as he realised how insensitive he must have been right now. Sherlock started to trust him enough to join him again and what did he do? He starts an argument. _'Good job, Watson...'_  
" Sherlock, what happened? Please tell me, you know you can tell me everything!" The doctor said gently and looked at him with pleading eyes. 

Of course Sherlock knew, but he wasn't ready to open his heart, the fear of losing him was too big. And even if he found a courage to confide to his friend, how on earth he would tell him?   
Unwillingly, he had to admit that Magnussen did a good job - he had no reason to worry about being revealed, he knew that detective's own pride was a great safeguard...

Sherlock's body jerked when he remembered that maniacal look in Magnussen's shark eyes, which hungrily gazed at him from behind his glasses, those importunate fingers that rubbed, mocked and hit his well-fed belly, those hurtful insults and comments that struck in his heart like knives... 

_'Stop thinking about him!_' He internally scolded himself for letting that monster influence him this way, shoved the imaginary man into the 'Forbidden Room' in his Mind Palace and slammed the door behind him. 

'The Forbidden Room' was a cell in the back of his Mind Palace, the same one where he had spent the most of the time of his captivity (right after the kitchen of course). It had built up during his stay in Appledore and no imaginary disaster could ruin it. Sherlock tried everything, but as it seemed, this room and that horrible man will stay written in his head forever, Magnussen always found a way to escape... 

The detective shook his head and did his best to get a grip of himself, there was no point in self-pity, he better should do something about it." John, I really appreciate your offer, but I would like to go now..."

" And what about your hair?" John asked, grasping at straws. " I won't pry anymore, I promise... Just, remember that if you need to talk to someone, I'll be there for you..." 

Holmes hesitated and stopped in the middle of the step. On one side, he wanted to be alone and deal with it on his own. He'd always been happy in his own company, he needed no friends. Until John came into his life and turned it upside down. Maybe he could give it a try? It's better to have someone by your side, isn't it? 

He nodded slowly and John couldn't help but smile. Except for a sharper exchange of views it wasn't as bad as he expected it to be. After all, he managed to make Sherlock leave his room, eat a bit and stay with him the whole evening. That was a good start. 

" And I should probably warn you that it won't be perfect, I'm not a hairdresser. But I'll do my best..."

" I trust you... "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> So what do you think? I have my own experience with food anxiety so I understand how horribly Sherlock feels. Thank you for your previous comments and kudos, I love you! 
> 
> Yours,  
PaulineHolmes02


	4. When enemies turn into allies...

  
The life at Baker Street started to settle down, but it was... strange. The detective took no cases nor clients and his disgusting experiments were nowhere to be seen. Not that John would complain, it was a nice surprise to open the fridge without facing a severed head...

The detective's weight refused to go down, even despite the significant change in detective's diet the cushion of fat attached to his belly remained the same.   
On the top of that, his stomach demanded for food almost every hour and its annoying rumbling was driving Sherlock insane! 

It had no reason to be hungry, the detective ate regularly and healthily, but the trauma and the stress fought tooth and nail and protected the large cushion attached to his tummy.   
  
No wonder that Sherlock was irritated. He has always been moody, but that was nothing compared to what he was doing now. There were days he almost felt like his good old self and he couldn't understand, why he was freaking out so much. But the next day his mood swapped like an April sky and everything could be different. 

It was really difficult to tell when the detective's behaviour was normal, considering his impulsive nature.   
But there were moments when John saw right through him. He could see that his friend was bothered about the whole situation, but he didn't dare to talk bring it up. He had a bad feeling it was partially his fault, though he still couldn't understand why. 

That's why John insisted on staying at Baker Street, he didn't feel like letting Sherlock alone under these circumstances, and the detective didn't complain - after all, he was so glad to be near John again! However, things got tense between them when John started to go back to work and on dates with Mary.   
Sherlock was so annoyed with that bloody woman, he didn't like the fact that John spent so much time with her instead of him! Or was it jealousy? To be honest, he didn't care what feeling it was, he just wanted John for himself! But he knew very well that he had no chance, not compared to Mary.   
John wasn't gay (he had said that loads of times) and even if he was, he would hardly be interested in somebody like Sherlock! 

But John seemed happy with her, and even though the detective could be really selfish sometimes, he was glad that John had found someone who was there for him when he couldn't. 

The clock showed something around four in the afternoon, and John was still in the clinic which meant that he still had time to do a few repeats of crunches. Not that it would help but at least he didn't feel bad for doing nothing.   
He was about to head to his room and workout for a while when his phone buzzed in his pocket. 

Sherlock took out the phone, took a look at the display, frowning at the name of the caller and accepted the call.   
" I've told you that I'm not taking any cases!" Sherlock growled before the man on the other side got a chance to greet. 

" I think you'll want to... It seems that John might be in danger!" Greg Lestrade said, getting down to the business, there was no need to beat about the bush. 

Sherlock's eyes widened and his heart started to throb in his chest. The idea of leaving the flat didn't seem much very tempting, but this was about John! He had to do something! " I'm on my way, send me an address!" He hanged off, grabbed a black parka which was hanged on the door and ran out on the street. 

* * *

There's been a murder in a basement of an old block of flats.  
Detective entered the flat and immediately understood what Lestrade meant when he said that John could be in danger. 

The dead man who laid oh his stomach, with his left arm under his torso, looked painfully similar to his army doctor.   
His figure seemed to be just a bit taller and less muscular and his hair were two shades lighter than John's sandy one, but the similarity between the two was undeniable. 

What caught Sherlock's attention the most was a bloody spot on man's left shoulder blade and his brows furrowed when he understood what it meant. Oh, God...

This was a murder tailored for John! 

But who would want to hurt him? John Watson was the kindest, bravest and most loyal man he has ever met, he tried to get on with everybody.   
  
What if it was because of him? What if someone used John as a bait? 

Unfortunately, genius' company seemed to call attention to his friend, especially from the side of his enemies. And they didn't even hesitate to use his weakness against him. However, it was hackneyed method, Sherlock would really appreciate if they could just settle their accounts with him and let John be... 

_'Concentrate, you have a case to solve!'_

The detective bent down beside the victim, pressed his hands together and laid his chin on his fingertips - connecting both brain hemispheres helped him to concentrate much more.   
His mind started to fill with theories and logical links and he could feel the adrenaline spread into his body, circulating in his veins, filling him with excitement and encouragement. He was finally in his element, his Work was like a breathing to him, he couldn't function without it, no matter how much he tried to tell himself otherwise.

His blue-green eyes narrowed in concentration and he tilted his head to left, to see the corpse from a different angle.   
" He has bled to death, but not from the bullet wound. There's a big amount of blood, which means that he has suffered a a severe injury to his stomach, most likely by a dagger..."

He moved a bit closer to corpse's face. " He can't be older than forty, he's in very good condition, but he's been suffering from PTSD. From the war - his tan, short hair and build indicates it's a soldier."

" How can you tell?" The young forensic, who's been sent with Sherlock to keep an eye on him - since Greg had some dull paperwork to do - asked sceptically. 

Sherlock sighed, annoyed by the boy's incompetence. He pointed towards his hands as if it was completely evident.   
" His nails are too short and asymmetric - the consequence of nail-biting.   
He's been under a lot of pressure and stress, there are dark circles under his eyes, he's sleep deprived from the fear of nightmares about the battlefield, I dare say.  
He's left-handed, do you see his fingers? His index and middle fingers are calloused, from holding a pen and a gun. He was shot in the left shoulder, definitely on purpose, the murderer wanted to point out the similarity of John. He has just come back from the mission, he looks exhausted and much older than he is... He's quite -"

"So it's a truth then..."

" What?" The detective asked without much interest when he heard an unpleasant voice behind him, followed by two other set of footsteps, and he didn't need to be the world's first Consulting Detective to tell what was going to follow. This wasn't going to be a nice conversation... 

" Guys from forensic said they had seen a whale on a crime scene..." Said that voice mockingly and a burst of laughter echoed through the gloomy room. 

Sherlock rose up from the ground and turned around to face the bearded policeman, with an expression of absolute indifference. Anderson wasn't worth it...   
" Hello, Anderson. You're a bit late, don't you think?" He said in the most sarcastic voice he was able to produce.

Anderson looked him up and down and wrinkled his nose.   
" I hope you haven't contaminated the crime scene. I don't want to have all clues stained with grease..." He used the same tone as the detective and chuckled at his own joke, together with the two forensics. 

" Very funny... Don't worry, I won't stay here for long, I probably wouldn't survive in your presence for longer than it's necessary. I'm here just because of John." The black-haired man replied coldly. He wasn't letting that pathetic excuse of policeman win. 

He was about to breath in to say some biting goodbye, but Anderson was faster.   
" Speaking about him, where is he? He doesn't want to get seen with you, does he? Come on, Sherlock, admit it... Nobody wants a fat detective. How would you like to catch a killer when you can't catch your own breath?"

Another wave of laughter echoed through the room. They could be surprisingly coordinated when it comes to bullying. What a shame they weren't using their brains more often in DIFFERENT situations, during the investigation, for example... 

The detective clenched his jaw and daringly looked him in the eyes. If they had thought that he will break down from their comments, then they were utterly wrong.   
" At least I'm not a brainless idiot, Anderson." He sneered and tried to hide how much Anderson's last comments affected him. 

The red-faced policeman made his way towards Sherlock, who took a step back. " Shut up, you disgusting - !" He shouted in Sherlock's face, but they had no chance to find out what name Anderson wanted to call him. Because in that very time, the detective lost his control, clenched his right hand into a fist and punched him right in his nose. 

The punch astounded not just Anderson and his colleagues, but also Holmes himself. He rarely let anyone upset him and it took a lot of effort to provoke him to the point of hitting someone. 

Anderson perfectly succeeded this time and he had gotten what he deserved. Sherlock felt a deep satisfaction when he watched him curse and press his hands to his bleeding face. 

However, it faded quite quickly as soon as Anderson's companions took few steps towards him.   
" You could have broken his nose, you fat sh*t!" Growled the first one while the second one raised his hand to strike to revenge his injured friend.   
Sherlock froze, but he refused to look away. He had survived much worse things...

" What a shame he hasn't... Get off him!"

All heads turned towards the door. Anderson gasped for breath and not even Sherlock himself couldn't deny he was surprised. 

" Sally?!" 

Sergeant Sally Donovan was standing in the doorframe, her arms folded on her hips. She's been watching the scene in front of her for a while - she had heard some voices so she came to check what was going on.   
From pieces of sentences she had registered she could tell what was the cause of this fuss. However, that haven't decreased her surprise when she first laid her eyes on Sherlock.   
The confident, arrogant detective was gone, replaced with a man who seemed oddly vulnerable. Not only because of the lack of his condition which was clear at the first sight, but something in Sherlock's expression made her to have a mercy on him. 

  
" What are you staring at? Don't you have something to do? Bugger off and back to the work before I tell Greg that you're slacking off!"   
She snapped, uncompromisingly pointed towards the door and her raised voice gave them no choice but do as she says - nobody wants to mess with their boss..."

" That was... unexpected..." Sherlock commented with raised eyebrows as soon as forensics left the room. Did someone drug her coffee? He was innocent this time... 

Sally has always despised him and his weight was offering a great opportunity for her to humiliate him, why didn't she use it?

Donovan ran her hand with red manicured nails through her curly hair and shook her head. " Don't get used to it... I've never liked you and I never will, because you're an arrogant arsehole. But I can't stand the people who makes fun of the way someone looks like..." She told him, completely honest. Sally wasn't saint and she knew that, but she would never go that far to humiliate someone for their appearance. Not even if that 'someone' was Sherlock Holmes. 

" Thanks." Holmes said abruptly and to his own surprise he really meant it. He would never expect Sally Donovan to defend him from bullies when about two years ago she was one of them. 

The policewoman shrugged her shoulders and turned around to leave. " Don't mention it..." With a last glance at him she made her way out of the building. 

Not even Sherlock himself couldn't stay here with the dead body. Not when the corpse looked painfully similar to his best friend. He buried his hands into his pockets as he walked through the corridor leading out.   
He left the block of flats and was about to set out to Baker Street when he spotted something on the ground.

It was a black, dangle earring. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The new chapter is here, so I hope you like it! Your comments are absolutely amazing thank you so much for your support <3! 
> 
> Are you proud of our Sherly? I am because he really cares about John more than about himself. 
> 
> And I know that Sally is quite OOC, but I hope you don't mind :) And if you do, don't be shy and tell me, I would love to hear your opinions! 
> 
> Have a nice day,
> 
> PaulineHolmes02


	5. And friends become enemies...

The detective didn't take a cab to get to Baker Street, he decided to go on foot. The walk on fresh air seemed to be far more pleasant alternative than a workout. But to be honest, he didn't like the idea of walking around London, all alone. Not only that he missed John - Sherlock caught himself almost talking to him a few times, assuming he's right beside him. He also felt oddly vulnerable, no wonder, when we consider what happened the last time. But John was worth the risk, he would never let anyone hurt him! 

He hid the plastic bag with the black earring in the pocket of his trousers and strode through the darkening street. The dark blue fog was starting to fall and the cool air of the beginning of February was bitting him in his cheeks. He shivered and dug his hands into pockets of a black jacket and regretted not taking any gloves. How he missed his long, elegant coat! He sighed and bowed his head, exhaling the warm breath under his parka to keep himself warm. 

He wished to be at home already, he was so looking forward to John, hot tea and sitting in their armchairs while watching the crap telly. Sherlock didn't understand why some people voluntarily watch such movies. But if anything, it was good training for deductions and remarks, very useful things... And it usually made John laugh, which always seemed to be a good bonus.   
He was about to turn left when someone called his name. 

" Oh, Sherlock! I was hoping to see you!" 

Sherlock's hair stood up on end and he knew that he had to get out of here, but before he could take a step, he felt himself being slammed into the block of flats so strongly his head bumped into the wall.   
It took a while before he realised what was going on and then he saw her. 

Her piercing blue eyes glared daggers into his and her lips were curled into a nasty frown.  
" Give me back my earring and nothing happens to you!" Mary hissed and sneaked her hand into Sherlock's pocket. 

" I have no idea what you're talking about!" Sherlock protested and struggled with her thievish hands which dug its nails into his skin and demanded the precious and very useful piece of evidence. He wanted to pull her away from himself, but she was very strong for a woman her height. 

" Don't worry, the penny will drop as soon as I'm finished with you!"   
And then she punched him in the face. 

Detective's eyes watered, blood ran down from his nose and he felt a nasty metallic taste in his mouth, but he refused to give up. He squeezed her wrists, ignoring her nails that dug into his skin. There had to be some way to get out of this mess! 

She burst into cruel laughter. " You know very well that you can't beat me, that's beyond you! So give it back! " 

Without a warning, the young genius threw himself forward, leaned on the surprised woman whose slim frame had no chance of staying on her feet at such lunge and knocked her down. 

She gasped as she fell on her back on the cold pavement, stuck under Sherlock Holmes. His manoeuvre surprised her and before she had time to collect, he was crawling away.   
Maybe if he managed to escape a few blocks further into a more busy street, he would get rid of her, the detective thought. She wouldn't dare to raise her hand at him in front of so many people. 

Cold fingers wrapped around his ankle and Sherlock knew that he was in big trouble.   
Mary will never let him go, not when he possessed the thing she needed so much. She tripped his knees up so the detective ended on the ground, face-first to the pavement. Bending next to him, she dug her fingers into the back of his neck and pressed his head to the cold concrete. 

" If you'll give it to me voluntarily, I'll leave you alone. In another case, I'll have to beat it out of you!" She hissed and brushed Sherlock's cheek against the harsh surface a few times, chafing the soft flesh to the point of bleeding. 

" So you can take it, ran away and kill someone else? Like your loving boyfriend?!"  
The black-haired man gathered his power, propped on his elbows and somehow managed to shake her off. He clambered up on his feet again and almost prayed for her to let him go. 

She didn't, the woman was importunate as a cockroach.   
" Someone's jealous... Don't give yourself false hopes! You know, John told me that he can't wait to move out... You're boring, he said..." Mary said in a sweet voice and her words affected the detective more than any of her grips and smashes. It was enough for him to lose attention. 

The blonde didn't wait for anything, grabbed Sherlock's shoulders and smashed his scarred back against the wall several times.  
But the worst had yet to come. 

Sherlock yelped and his face went white like chalk when something hard hit him in his belly. It was Mary's knee. 

The pain exploded in his stomach and must have shot into every nerve ending in his body, setting his insides aflame.  
All he could register was a painful throbbing in his lower belly and hot tears welling in his eyes and rolling down his round cheeks.   
Finally, his legs gave up and he sank on the pavement. 

Amused, Mary watched the detective cry silently and clutch his belly, and her joy multiplied when the thing she needed fell out of his pocket. There was nothing to stop her from hiding her earring into her handbag and cover her tracks. 

" Thank you, sweetheart..." Mary gave him a sweet smile and ruffled his already messy hair as if she was praising a well-trained animal. 

Sherlock's face crumpled in disgust, who did she think she was?  
" Do you have any idea how's John going to feel? He trusted you so much!" He rasped.   
John Watson has never done anything to deserve such a betrayal! He'll be devastated when he finds out that the woman who helped him to get through Sherlock's death had played just an insidious, nasty game!

Mary stroked detective's cheekbone and brushed away a few little tears with her thumb. " Oh, darling, he won't find out... Because you won't tell him..." Her voice hardened - at the end of the sentence she was almost growling - and her fingers pinched his face. 

" How can you tell?"  
Slapping her hand away, he glared daggers at her, fed up with her self-confident tone. He had to tell him! John had to know that he's in danger, for God's sake! He couldn't risk his wellbeing, he would never forgive himself if something had happened to his best friend. 

The woman sneered and put her hand in her handbag. " You'll change your mind as soon as you see what you're risking, trust me..." She took out her phone and shoved it under Sherlock's nose.

Sherlock took a look at the display and what he saw made him feel sick.   
He was staring at a message followed by a few photos. Photos from his fattening stay at Appledore! 

Her cruel laughter stung in his ears and took away the rest of the self-esteem he had left. How come he didn't see that?! He was the only Consulting Detective in the world, he could tell everything about   
anyone in a few seconds!  
" You were there..." Sherlock whispered in a hollow voice and cursed himself for letting his voice waver. Emotions weren't an advantage!

" I wasn't there the whole time, John would suspect me... I have to admit that Mr Magnussen did a fantastic job, what was he feeding you with? I've never considered being possible to gain so much weight in just a few weeks, but you're Sherlock Holmes, after all. Normal rules don't apply to you, do they?" Her lips bared her teeth in a wide smile and she better hid her phone back to the handbag, safe from furious detective's hands.  
  
He would be pleased to kick her somewhere if the pain had let him. " Shut up! What makes you think that I won't tell anyone?" He growled through gritted teeth, even despite it was obvious to him. 

That annoying smile grew even wider. " I know you won't... You're too self-conceited... "   
She leaned closer until their noses were almost touching.   
" If you're naughty, then your little secret won't be a secret anymore. You don't want these photos to end in John's phone, do you?" 

Sherlock's hand itched to punch her like he had punched Anderson, but he knew he could just make things worse.   
He just curled his slightly shaking hands into fists but said nothing. 

" But if you'll keep your mouth shut, then you'll have nothing to worry about..." The blonde said, rose up on her feet and dusted her trousers. " Well, that's all for now... It was great to see you again, Sherly!"

The raven-haired genius opened his mouth to say that the pleasure was just one-sided, but before he managed to say a word, something hard smashed his head and he fell into a darkness of unconsciousness. 

* * *

He gained consciousness again but it couldn't be considered as a pleasant wake up.   
He was sitting on the pavement, in the heavy rain and cold weather, and everything hurt. His eyes stung under closed eyelids, his body trembled like a leaf in the wind and the goosebumps covered every centimetre of his skin. The freezing water leaked through his clothes and the night wind coloured his cheeks red.   
He tried to move, but his legs tingled, he felt all stiff and he just wanted to sleep. 

The detective was numb with cold so it took him a few seconds to realise that somebody was slapping his cheek gently and frantically calling his name.   
" Sherlock! SHERLOCK!"

Sherlock opened his eyes and squinted into the darkness, trying to orientate himself in the setting, but with a buzzing in his head, he wasn't very successful. He took a deep breath and jerked at a sharp pain in his stomach.   
And suddenly everything clicked - the kick in his belly, Mary, earring...

Raising his head, he saw a man with a round face, eagle nose and silver, worried eyes.   
" My... Mycroft?" He stuttered through his stiff lips and chattering teeth. 

Mycroft Holmes put both his hands alongside Sherlock's face and forced him to look him in the face. " Did you take something?!" His voice sounded very urgent and if you knew him well, you would say he was scared.   
He pointed the torch at him and threw light into Sherlock's eyes, almost sighing in relief when he saw his brother's pupils contract. 

" I-I didn't ta-take anything! I mu-must have co-collapsed..." Sherlock protested and closed his eyes from the sharp light.   
He couldn't fool his older brother, at first sight, it was obvious that he's been attacked, but they had no time for an argument. The priority was to warm Sherlock up, his soaked clothes must have been terribly cold and he was chilled to the bone without a doubt. The last thing they needed was catching pneumonia.   
Mycroft took off his jacket and threw it around Sherlock's back to keep him warm at least a bit before they'll get him to Baker Street.  
  
Then he helped him back on his feet and wanted to support him, but the detective pulled out and stubbornly tried to walk on his own. 

" I'm fine!" Sherlock objected and just a second later almost tripped over his own feet. 

" I see... And that's why you have blood all over your face and you can't stand still, right?" Mycroft remarked sarcastically and wrapped brother's arm around his neck to give him some stability. He saw how much energy and effort it has cost him to hold his body upright, he won't let him fall just because of his stubbornness!   
" Just let me help you, brother mine... I've got you..." He promised and together they stumbled towards the black Jaguar. 

" Why did you c-come?" The detective asked when he finally sat in the car and Mycroft fastened the seat belt across him. 

The pair of piercing, grey eyes looked into Sherlock's face and gave him his well-known '_are you really so stupid_?' expression.   
" Oh, Sherlock... Let me use your favourite sentence - you see but you don't observe..." Mycroft rolled his eyes, started the motor and turned on the heating to stop brother from chattering his teeth. 

Ostentatiously, Sherlock turned his head to the left and stared at the wet pavement from the window, obstinately avoiding Mycroft's gaze. " Are you mocking me or you're just trying to say something?" He snapped and wrapped his arms around himself to keep at least the rest of his dignity. 

The man from British Government rubbed the bridge of his eagle-shaped nose and thought about what to say, feelings had never been his forte.  
" I see that your brain has frozen too, you're awfully slow today... I'm trying to say that I care about you! I know you think I'm just a manipulative bastard, but I hate to see you suffer so much, you silly boy!" 

Mycroft's unexpected outburst caught up Sherlock's attention again and he almost jumped up when the man beside him put his hand on Sherlock's knee and squeezed it gently in the rare sight of brotherly affection.   
" I understand what you're going through, but unlike me, you have so many people who care about you, no matter what! Don't shoo them away if you don't want to lose them..." 

Sherlock bowed down his head and felt a sting of guilt for the way he treated him. Even despite all the teasing and sometimes very ugly remarks Mycroft still cared about him and fixed his mistakes - the detective couldn't understand what he had ever done to deserve such a patient sibling.   
" Thank you, Myc... I'm sorry I wasn't a proper brother..." 

The ginger man gave Sherlock's knee a gentle slap and pulled his hand away.   
" Come on! You've always been my proper brother and you always will be..." Then he shook his head and made a sour face as if he had swallowed a lemon.   
" But enough of sentiment right now, it makes my teeth rot. We're going to Baker Street, John will take care of you. You gave him a real fright!"

Sherlock couldn't himself but smile but it came out as a grimace - his stiff cheeks complicated all facial expressions. Now he knew that John wasn't the only one who was worried about him. His brother often seemed like an emotionless reptile and he almost never opened up his heart. All the more precious these moments of truce were. 

Mycroft took out his phone and quickly started to type a message to John to let him know that he had found Sherlock and that he better prepare his first aid kit.   
Then he put the car in gear and they made their way to Baker Street. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers! 
> 
> Yep, Mary's 'bit-not-good' in this story, so I apologise if you like her :)  
I hope you don't find Mycroft's entrance too OOC, but I suppose that he would worry about his brother.
> 
> Feel free to tell me anything, I'm curious about your feelings and opinions! Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Yours,  
PaulineHolmes02


	6. Sherlock-sitter

It was something around 11 o'clock in the evening when keys rattled in the lock of the entrance door and announced someone's entrance.

'Sherlock!' John though and jumped from his armchair as if he had just sat on the wasp. Finally!

He was so concerned when he came home from the work to find the flat empty, no signs of his flatmate and friend. Since he has started to live with him again, he never saw him leave the flat.  
He could understand that Sherlock might give the impression that he didn't care about what people think, but that wasn't quite a truth. Sherlock's self-esteem has deflated significantly during two years he has been away and his insecurity even strengthened by the rapid and large weight gain.  
The doctor shooed away his thoughts, Sherlock's health was much more important!

" Oh my goodness! Who did this to you?! You look horrible, darling!" He heard a shocked, teary voice belonging to Mrs Hudson. There was so much love in it, he was like a son for her.

John always admired their relationship, one could say that it was just a landlady, but for Sherlock (and himself of course) it was a part of the family.

Mrs Hudson's weeping grew louder, which made the doctor run down the stairs, nearly tumbling from the staircase.

He rushed to the hall to find his ponderous friend leaning over the wall and Mrs Hudson who tried to support him. Although it was a strong and vital woman, her knees kept buckling under the detective's weight.  
The sight of that made the soldier gasp and suddenly he wasn't able to tear off his eyes from his hunched figure.

It was almost a miracle that his legs were able to carry him, even though the majority of his weight laid on the wall. The detective was leaning heavily on the wall, grasping onto it with his dear life, his fingers pressed to the plastering like suckers.

There was a big hole on the left leg of his trousers, the blood flowed from the scrape and stained the new pair of trousers.

The water dripped from his black hair, his dark curls were completely soaked, the wetness made them straighten and fall alongside his face, framing a huge graze on his right cheek. He barely kept his eyes open, his eyelids were closing against his will, he seemed to be able to fall asleep while standing.

John hurried towards his flatmate and landlady, his face crumpled with worries. " Jesus! What happened?! You look like a mess!" He exclaimed and reached out his arm to touch Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock flinched wildly and tried to pull away from him with such savagery he almost fell down. " I-I-I'm fine!" He growled and did his best to straighten up.

" Don't give me this crap! Of course, you're not fine!" The soldier raised his voice into a scream, the frustration was taking control of him, all those mysteries and secrets were driving him INSANE! He just wanted to understand so he would be able to help him.

With two small steps, John closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's bulky middle, grasping him tightly and allowing the detective to lean on him.  
" Come here... Let me help you..." He whispered and almost shivered when his thin striped jumper absorbed the water from detective's wet clothes.

" I'll make some hot tea, that will warm him up..." Offered Mrs Hudson while watching the duo with a concerned face.

John shot her with a grateful smile. " Thank you, Mrs H, you're heaven-sent! Don't worry, I'll take care of him..." He swore and got a better grip on his friend.

Sherlock tried to protest, but this time he gave up quickly. He let himself be led through the flat, trusting John with all his heart. He felt so safe with John's strong, muscular arm around him, he knew that he would cover his back no matter what. Sure, he felt really self-conscious about his figure, especially when the soldier stood so close, not to mention held him... But he was too exhausted to do something about it right now.

John immediately recognised friend's uncertainty, so tightened his grip on him and rubbed his fleshy side in a comforting manner. He didn't want to make Sherlock uncomfortable, but the stubborn man needed his help. Furthermore, he needed to regain his confidence back, a part of it at least.

Actually, he still couldn't understand why was Sherlock acting this way whenever he was around him. He wasn't different than every other person, was he? He was his best friend and he really cared about him. Maybe even more than a friend does, he had to admit. But he could safely say that he absolutely didn't mind the way Sherlock looked like. Well, actually he did a bit, in the medical facet, he was a doctor after all, and he was well aware of diseases and risks caused by obesity.

But in the aspect of the appearance, he could not care less. For him, he was the same handsome and intelligent man he was about two years ago, the man for whom he has killed, the man for whom he has cancelled his dates, the man with whom he lived instead of his girlfriend!  
And to be honest, he was really surprised that his flatmate still hasn't realised that!  
Because he still had to try not-thinking about touching Sherlock's cheekbones, force himself to NOT stare at his magnificent bum or resisted an urge to grab his hand just because he wanted to...

He shooed those intrusive thoughts away and focused on getting the detective in the bed.  
Together they headed through the corridor leading to Sherlock's room. With some effort, John took the handle and opened the door, kicking them open to let themselves in.  
He took the backrest of the chair, which stood at the window, and dragged the seat beside the bed.

  
" Sit!" He ordered, switching himself to the doctor mode. From his own experience, he knew that it was a big disadvantage to let himself care too much when treating his patient.

* * *

_" Oh, Mister Holmes! I've heard so many good things about you..." Magnussen grinned at the confused detective with a false smile._

_Sherlock crossed his arms on his chest and tilted his head daringly. " What a shame I can't say the same..." He noted venomously. Deep inside he was scared and nervous, but he refused to give the man in front of him the pleasure of knowing how he felt._

_" I've been warned about your cheekiness, but you're more cheeky than I expected... _  
_Don't worry, I'll tame you... You must be hungry after such a long way... Would you like dinner?" The spectacled man pointed towards a chair at the table. There was a big plate of chips with ketchup and a big portion of the pork steak._

_Sherlock didn't even look in the direction Magnussen showed him, he refused to obey someone he knew just a couple of seconds. " No thanks... Why did you bring me here?"_

_The old man made a few steps closer to the detective and slowly revolved around him, examining him like a statue in the museum. " Oh, you didn't hear me well the first time, did you? A dinner, mister Holmes... You're starving after your four days fasting, aren't you?_

_The detective shifted under Magnussen's gaze as if he was some experiment under the microscope._

_" You're so skinny! I definitely understand why John's not interested in you, he likes curves..." He brushed his fingers over Sherlock's prominent hip bone, sharp and pointed. _  
_" What would you say if we put a bit of padding on you, Mr Holmes? You would look more 'girly'..."_

_Sherlock was getting more and more nervous, he had a bad feeling about what was going to happen next. " I'm not hungry!" He barked at the other man._

_Magnussen patted his head like a human praises his pet. " I think you will change your mind... SIT!" He raised his voice and suddenly a gun pressed into Sherlock's back. " You won't be allowed to leave the table before you eat it all!"_

* * *

Sherlock froze as the flash of memory ran in front of his eyes, triggered by the order. He knew that John didn't mean to say it harshly, he just did his best to concentrate. He was used to those changes, he had been treated by John many times - during their cases, he inflicted himself lots of injuries. But the latest events left him nervous and cautious about everything, there were so many triggers causing flashbacks of the worst moments in his life.  
However, the detective sat down obediently, he trusted John with his dear life.

" Take off your clothes, will you? It's not good for you to sit in those wet ones... I'll bring you something dry..." John said and immediately started to look for something the plump detective could wear. The room was very spacious, he never noticed that before. Could it be that Sherlock has moved some things to make more room? But for what?  
His eyes fell on the rolled camping mat which stood in the corner.  
Oh...  
The doctor immediately understood what was the detective doing there, when he hid in there. No wonder he was moody and tired all the time, it seemed that his attempts to workout didn't work as Sherlock imagined.

  
Sherlock reached out his hands to grab the zip of his parka, but he wasn't able to control his fingers, his hands trembled from the coldness and shock, he almost didn't feel his fingertips. His eyes kept closing, he wanted to sleep so badly it hurt!

After the third unsuccessful attempt, he felt the pair of smaller hands unzip his jacket and help him out of it. Sherlock let his shaky arms fall down alongside his torso and let the ex-soldier take off his parka.

Then John's fingers focused on the button of Sherlock's trousers, undoing them and grasping the waistband to pull them down. In doing so, his hands brushed across Sherlock's sensitive tummy which immediately tried to flex to hide itself in the torso.

Goosebumps started to spread on Sherlock's arms when he felt John touch his bloated belly and his cheeks would turn red if he wasn't so freezing. With the rest of his strengths, he managed to suck it in so John wouldn't be so repulsed.

Except that the doctor did the very opposite, instead of pulling away from him in disgust he bent down in front of him, his hands travelled upwards and rested on his wide hips. The domestic movement felt so natural as if he was doing this every day...  
" Sherlock, it's just me, don't panic..." He whispered and started drawing comforting circles on his pliable bare skin, frowning at finding out that Sherlock's epidermis was stone cold.

With his weak abdominals still flexed, Sherlock bowed down his head in shame, avoiding friend's gaze as much as possible.

" Look at me..." John whispered gently and when the detective didn't obey, he put his index finger under his soft chin and made him look him in the face.  
" Look, I know you're not feeling well, actually I'm not sure if you're conscious enough, but let me tell you this - It doesn't matter how much you weigh or what size you wear, you're still you, the great Sherlock Holmes! And I don't see a difference between you and Sherlock from two years ago, do you understand? Just relax and I will examine you, okay?"

The detective closed his eyes, his long lashes brushed against his high cheekbones. " It doesn't look nice..." He warned him and with a heavy heart, he exhaled and unbend his muscles, letting his tummy puff out. He winced when his skin jiggled, feeling a pure repulsion towards himself.

John's hands wandered across Sherlock's abdomen, giving some places a light press, some spots just a caress. He told him to take deep breaths, asked if he doesn't feel any sting in the area of the ribcage and just to be sure he palpated his ribs that hid under the thick layer of the fat.

The tall, black-haired man watched him sadly, obeying the doctor's orders. His insides kept twisting with embarrassment under John's skilled touches and the urge to suck in his stomach gnawed in his head.  
He raised his head when both hands cupped his belly in a completely different way than during the examination.

Sherlock's breath hitched, the feeling of John's warm palms pressed on his sides felt so comfortable, it didn't warm him up just from the outside, but even from inside. His heart pounded at least two times faster than normal, something strong swelled in his chest and filled his insides with the warmth of being wanted and cared about.

But looking down at himself brought him back to the reality, the soldier was touching his horrible, disgusting paunch! He wanted the ground to swallow him, to hide him from John's caring, beautiful eyes, to run away from his room, but he couldn't move a muscle. He was freezing, his limbs felt sore from the coldness, but at the same time, his insides boiled with the embarrassment.

" There's nothing wrong with you, Sherlock... It happens to lots of people, gaining weight is a completely natural and usual thing, so don't bother yourself with it. Furthermore, I know you will lose it quickly, I've never met someone so stubborn as you..." John murmured and gave his friend a boosting smile to calm him down. He was pleased with himself when h managed to make his friend smile a bit.

* * *

A few moments and cup of tea later, with John's willing help, they managed to get him into dry clothes - sweatpants and a t-shirt with a cardigan and the good doctor drove him uncompromisingly to the bed, covering his body with two blankets.

" I'll make some hot soup, okay?" He offered and turned around to leave the room.  
He approached the door when the other man stopped him.

" Stay... Please..." Sherlock mumbled, words slurred together with the exhaustion, but the doctor understood what his friend was saying.

John turned his head and was a bit surprised to hear his friend beg. But on the other hand, the detective needed support in these days and the fact he pleaded for it made that need even bigger.  
The doctor made a few steps back to the bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress. " Of course I will..." He said and smiled at the sleepy man in the duvets.

Sherlock was watching his friend with heavy, tired eyes, though his brain worked on the top gear, considering his options.  
John was the closest person he ever had, except for his family, and he wasn't going to give up on him, even if it meant he would have to sacrifice himself.  
He will tell him, but that meant that Mary will tell him too.  
... So what?  
John Watson was more precious than his dignity. So whatever she had prepared for them, he would swallow that to keep his doctor safe.  
" John?" He asked quietly and cursed his voice for shaking.

The doctor leaned forward so he could hear him better. " Yes? What is it?" He whispered and tilted his head to the left.

Sherlock shifted under the blanket and clenched his hands into fists. " Maybe you won't like it, but stay away from Mary..." He slurred, his eyelids felt heavier by each second. He desperately wanted to sleep, fall into a sweet unconsciousness, hopefully without bad dreams. " She's dangerous...

" What?!" John blinked in the surprise and confusion, he couldn't believe his own ears! Mary? Dangerous? She seemed like a nice, honest and kind woman... Was it just a fake mask? What was she up to?

Sherlock nodded slightly and closed his eyes when he felt nauseous from the movement. " She's after you..."

The army doctor opened his mouth to say something, but before he was able to produce a sentence, Sherlock was already fast asleep.

Why would she go after him? He never did anything bad to her, why did she target him? Then something occurred to him. What if he was an intermediary and she used him to get Sherlock? Only that thought was giving him chills, he would never let anybody hurt his Sherlock. He felt incredibly protective about the detective and he would bite off a head of anybody who would lay his hands on him again!

The sight of Sherlock's podgy beaten figure was making him boil with fury, every little bruise, every scratch turned his vision red. Could it be Mary's work? Was that what Sherlock implied?  
What if she wreaked her anger on him after their break-up? John couldn't lie to her anymore, he loved her but not in the way he loved Sherlock. He felt as if he just used her as some kind of patch, a replacement in the hole in his heart which created there after Sherlock jumped from the Bart's Hospital. He should be shocked and betrayed, shouldn't he?

His shocked and angry mask melted from his face at the sight of the tired detective.

" Sleep well, my stubborn detective... I'll protect you..." The doctor spoke softly when he was sure that the man was sleeping. In the complete silence, he watched his peaceful features, his calm, smooth eyelids, relaxed facial muscles, his cheeks so soft as the baby's bottom, slightly smiling lips. He listened to his steady breath, gazed at his rising and falling chest, he could easily count every inhales and exhales.

Very slowly he reached out his arm and put it on the curve of Sherlock's stomach, which was bulging under the duvet. He spread his fingers and gently rubbed his palm against the quilt cover.  
" Oh, Sherlock... You have no idea how much you mean to me, do you? It's such a shame you can't see yourself the way I see you... You're such a special person, one of the most important humans in my life... You saved me so many times in so many ways, and I let you think that I have abandoned you... How can I deserve someone like you?"  
John was muttering to himself as he kept caressing the pliable cushion of detective's large tummy, careful to not wake him up.

The ex-soldier slid his hand upwards, took the tip of the blanket and tugged it carefully under Sherlock's chin.  
He watched his sleeping face and suddenly couldn't resist. He cupped detective's face gently with his hand, his heart filled with warmth when his palm met the chubby cheek.

The peaceful moment was ruined when John's mobile beeped and announced the new message. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers!
> 
> It seems that our boys are finally understanding their feelings for each other! And of course I had to mention Mrs Hudson, because she loves Sherlock and she really cares about him. Do you like Mrs H? :) 
> 
> I hope it's not too much OOC, please tell me your opinions, so I can improve my style and skills.
> 
> Thank you sooo much for your support and kind words! <3 
> 
> Yours  
PaulineHolmes02


	7. Feverish Dreams?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚠️IMPORTANT⚠️
> 
> Hello guys. 
> 
> I know that you'll probably hate me, but I got a bit stuck with my story and when I read it again and again, I realised that I'm not happy with the development of the story.   
The last three chapters didn't come out as I wanted, so I decided to change it a bit. I hope that you're not too annoyed with me and that you will like it this way.

John sat on the edge of Sherlock's bed and read some book he found on the bedside table, but his thoughts were somewhere else. He couldn't stop thinking about what Sherlock told him. 

He couldn't believe it, how could she? 

He could understand that Mary was angry with him, how couldn't she when the detective suddenly appeared in the Landmark London restaurant on the Marylebone and ruined their engagement? 

Sherlock didn't mean it in a bad way. Sure, Holmes could be a great git if he wanted to (and sometimes even when he didn't...), and John would be lying if he said that he wasn't angry with him, but he forgave him quite quickly. After all, he was glad that Sherlock appeared in that time and he didn't get a chance to make the biggest mistake in his life and propose to that woman. 

Well, as it seemed, Mary saw it in a different way... But beating him up? That was very cruel revenge.

Unless there was something he didn't know? Something only Mary and Sherlock knew and the good doctor was left out of the picture again...

He was starting to get fed up with all those lies and mysteries! He truly cared about his detective and he would do anything to help him. But how can he help without knowing what's going on? 

John sighed and let his thoughts run freely in his head. After a few moments of associations, they stopped at the topic they always did. At Sherlock, of course... 

He was so confused, since the day Sherlock appeared in London. He had horrible times after Sherlock ki-...no, jumped from the rooftop. He felt guilty for never telling him what he meant to him, that almost the last words he had said to him were said in anger and accusatory. 

From the scars on Sherlock's back, he could tell that the detective has gone through the hell, the power which carved these scratches in his skin must have been brutal. He hoped that one day Sherlock would tell him why he told him nothing about the plan, why he let him grieve and how he came to these injuries.

Without his friend John felt like nothing, things returned to its old way, maybe even worse than before.   
The psychosomatic limp started to come back in his right leg and made his already bad days even more gloomy. He had lost all his interests, there was no fun without the crazy but good detective. Everything he did, everywhere he went, reminded him of his friend so much! John had to move out from Baker Street, he wasn't capable of living in the empty flat, where everything in there screamed 'Sherlock is dead' at him. 

And then Mary appeared. She was just an ordinary woman who didn't remind him of his late flatmate. She was kind, understanding and quite funny, she was always there for him when he needed support. 

Well, the grieving ex-soldier thought so back then... As it seemed, he didn't know her. 

A muffled whimper returned the soldier to reality. He turned his head in the direction of the source and his heart clenched at the sight of his flatmate in duvets. 

Sherlock was laying on his back, tangled in the blanket, fast asleep. His voluptuous body convulsed in the nightmare, the muscles on his arms and legs flexing and loosening uncontrollably... 

His frowning face sparkled with sweat which made his black curls stick to his forehead like a glue and his eyes were squeezed shut so tightly it created wrinkles around his eyes and nose. The sleeping detective pressed his lips together in such a tight line they seemed almost white, the corners of his lips twitched up and down in discomfort. 

Suddenly Sherlock made a deep, a throaty sound and arched in his back as if someone grabbed him around his waist and lifted him upwards. His curly head sank even deeper in the pillow and a loud cry escaped his lips, along with tears that welled up from his closed eyes. 

The noise made John's hair stand on the back of his neck. He leaned closer to him, alarmed by the heat and negative energy Sherlock's body radiated, he wondered if he has a fever. As an experienced doctor, he put the back of his hand on Sherlock's sweaty forehead and froze when he realised how hot it was. This wasn't just a temperature, his friend was feverish. 

John didn't wait for anything, grabbed Sherlock's trembling fleshy shoulders and shook with him gently.   
It had no effect though, if anything, it made the detective's nightmare even worse.   
Fortunately, the doctor was fast enough to bend down his head just in time and dodge out of the reach of Sherlock's clenched fist that would certainly hit him in the jaw if he hadn't moved away. 

Sherlock groaned again and his arms wrapped tightly around his round belly and squeezed it with a pained whimper.

John watched the scene in front of him with wide eyes, this wasn't just a nightmare, typical for fever. This was something Sherlock had experienced and John doubted this was his first bad dream like that... 

The detective continued to wriggle and bit his lower lip to prevent himself from screaming, his bed creaking a bit under his weight. Hot tears run down his soft cheeks and the doctor could almost hear his heart pound inside his chest. 

" **SHERLOCK, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WAKE UP!**" John shouted and gave his chubby cheek a little slap to wake him up and save him from the horrible dream. 

* * *

_The detective laid on the dirty fabric, a provisional blanket, curled into a ball and clutched his tummy tightly, his white shirt already missing its buttons and exposing the ball of the pale skin that shone in the darkness. _

_Since there were no windows, he couldn't see what time it was, but he guessed that it was morning. He couldn't sleep well, how could he with his incredibly stuffed stomach? He shivered at the memory of yesterday when he was forced to eat - _   
_no, stop thinking about it... _

_His belly felt heavy, but the bloating was gone. Instead of the drum-tight skin, his stomach was covered by a pliable, steadily thickening layer of the fat. Sherlock felt a pure repulsion towards himself, this wasn't how he should look like! _

_What would John think if he saw him like this?! _

_'It's just a transport, just transport, transport!' Sherlock repeated in his head, but not even his cold logic worked here. _

_The door of the cell opened and the detective felt his heart sink. Oh no, another breakfast was waiting for him, the table with a large portion of eggs and bacon, two slices of cake, buttery croissant with jam and cream milkshake! And Magnussen expected him to eat it all! _

_"Breakfast is ready!" _

_Sherlock groaned, but there was nothing he could do. He would never run away from them, they kept watching him like hawks waiting for its victim. And even if he managed to escape, he wouldn't run far..._

_He listlessly let them help him on his feet and felt himself being led into the familiar kitchen. _

_A few moments later Sherlock sat at the wooden table with a breakfast fit for the king, opening his mouth shakily. _   
_His lips quivered as he waited for the spoon that approached and carried another piece of food. _

_It was so degrading, he wasn't a child who needs his father to feed him! But Magnussen insisted on that and Sherlock knew that it was pointless to argue with him. Bruises and scratches on his rounding belly still weren't healed, spots fading into a mixture of yellow and green, he didn't need another set... _

_His eyelids fluttered and he closed his eyes when the cold metal slipped into his mouth and left there a mouthful of sugary cake. _

_It tasted disgusting and Sherlock was more than sure that Magnussen had put there much more sugar than the recipe said... Unlike his brother, Sherlock has never had a sweet tooth, he preferred salty and spicy food rather than sweets. However, he would rather not eat ANYTHING after these e_ _xperiences! _

_Even despite he didn't want to, he swallowed what he was given, the chewed mouthful glided down his oesophagus and joined previous ones inside his stomach. Sherlock grimaced in discomfort, the food in there felt like a boulder that grew heavier and heavier with every next bite._

_The waistband of detective's trousers was digging into his tummy more and more as it continued to balloon out from the high caloric intake and the amount he has just eaten. He groaned and wanted nothing else but take the restrictive clothing off or at least undo the button so he could breathe properly again. But he wasn't allowed to do that. _

_Magnussen's shark eyes gazed at him with an expression of a proud father and mocking grimace of Sherlock's former bullies at uni. _   
_" That's a good boy... I know a man with a good appetite when I see one..." He sneered at him and cut another spoonful of cake._

_Sherlock shook his head until his hair waved around his plumping cheeks. He couldn't stand the sight of the food in front of him, it was making him feel sick. He put his hands on sides of his tummy which sat heavily in his lap, bloated and taut. _   
_" I-I can't! I'm so full! I can't take a single bite, please!" _

_God knew how he wanted to jump out from the chair and jump on the man and crush his scrawny body under his weight._   
_But he wasn't sure whether his legs would even carry him, he already felt unsteady back then..._

_" Of course you can... And you will!" Magnussen growled, took the spoon and scooped a big piece of dessert. Sherlock felt a wave of nausea as he watched him manoeuvre the spoon towards his mouth again. _

_But Sherlock wasn't going to give up so easily. _

_He gripped Magnussen's thin, bony wrist and pushed his hand as far away as possible. Magnussen was taken by surprise by the sudden protest and the movement made him drop the spoon. _   
_The metal met the ground with a loud clink. _

_Sherlock gulped and knew that he was in trouble. _

_" You ungrateful BRAT!" The old man yelled and grabbed the thick man from behind his neck, shoving him from the chair down on the floor. _

_Sherlock fell down on his back with a hefty thud. For a while he just laid there, spread on the ground, staring at the maniacal businessman. What was he going to do? There was no way to run away, no place to hide! _

_Suddenly something hard kicked him in his full bloated stomach. Sherlock yelped in pain and realised that it was Magnussen's shoe. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around his torso to shield his front from the evil man who towered above him. _   
_He gagged but did his best to keep the unpleasant acidic taste inside, from his own experience he knew that he would pay for it._   
_Taking a deep breath, the detective tried to pull himself together, he wasn't ready to give of on his dignity! _

_Magnussen grabbed the plate with the cake and picked up the spoon before he bent beside the detective and pushed the chocolate cake violently right into Sherlock's throat. _

_" Eat, my detective! There's no other choice unless you would like to choke on it, of course!" _

_The raven-haired man chewed and chewed, the awfully sweet thing melting in his mouth and sticking to his palate and teeth. He puffed through his nose as he tried to resist an urge to spit it out and vomit everything he ate that morning. With difficulties, he managed to swallow, but it felt as if the food piled inside his gullet and Sherlock started to get scared that he will suffocate. _

_' Come on, it's just a few more bites!' He thought and hoped that this mess will end soon. _

_" I'm sure something still fits in here..." Magnussen laughed and patted Sherlock's stuffed belly, which was so full it didn't even jiggle. _   
_" Just look at how round you're getting... Seriously, Sherly, this is actually much more than a tummy... You're getting fat! I'm not sure if John will like you like this..."_

_Sherlock growled in anger and slapped Magnussen's wrinkled hand away. " Why are you doing this?! And I would really APPRECIATE if you kept your hands off me!" He snapped and tried to ignore a gnawing pain in his chest. What if John will find him disgusting? What if he finds him annoying and useless and leaves? _

_Magnussen sneered at him, enjoying Sherlock's uncertainty, but fortunately withdrew his hands as he said. _   
_" Why? Why do I flick people's faces? Why do I blackmail? Because it's fun! It's so amusing to watch you suffer, my little dumpling! God, just imagine how you two would look! John - nice, muscular ex-soldier... and then YOU next to him!" He burst into laughter, torturing the man in front of him in every way he could. _

_Sherlock closed his eyes shut and his already flushed cheeks grew even redder. " STOP IT! JUST SHUT UP, FOR GOD'S SAKE!" He yelled and his fist literally itched to punch him in his face and smash his stupid nose! He started to tremble with anger, he has suppressed it for too long and it desperately needed to get out of his system. _

_" Watch your manners, Holmes! You may have been a famous detective, but now you're nothing but a DISGUSTING PIG! Do I have to teach you a lesson again?" The businessman hissed in a voice you would never expect him to use and his eyes sparkled with maniacal fury. _

_The detective clenched his soft jaw in the protest, almost daring him to say something. " I have survived Serbia, your pathetic little belt is nothing compared to that!"_

_" Are you sure? Let's try it out!"_

_The detective swallowed but did nothing to show any signs of fear, he wasn't going to give him that pleasure to see him scared! In complete silence he watched the old man undo his belt and pull it out of loops on his trousers. _

_Magnussen raised his arm with the belt prepared to beat living daylights of the vulnerable man on the floor - _

  
_" **SHERLOCK, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WAKE UP!" **_

* * *

Sherlock's eyes finally snapped open, a loud gasp escaped his throat and he sprang up into a sitting position so wildly he almost bumped his head against John's. 

There was absolute chaos in his brain, the poor detective was completely confused and distressed. His hands squeezed John's forearms firmly and he stared at him with wide, shocked, bloodshot eyes.   
His breath was erratic and unsteady from the distress he went through in the nightmare and tears rolled down his cheeks.   
" John..." He whispered, his voice sounded exhausted but relieved. It was just a dream, he was on Baker Street, with John, safe... 

Then his eyes narrowed in confusion. " W-what are you doing here?" He stuttered. 

The army doctor almost rolled his eyes. " Waking you up. Did you really think that I would leave you unsupervised? You had a nightmare and pretty bad one, so..." He scratched the back of his neck. 

Sherlock felt the blood rush to his cheeks and his face turned red like a beetroot. He knew that his nightmares were always a bit wild and now John saw!   
" You didn't have to, John, I'm fine..." 

That was a lie and both of them knew that. Sherlock's head was spinning, his eyes stung and he felt dizzy. Every part on his body seemed to be in pain and exhaustion, he just sat there, crestfallen and on the edge of collapse. His back bent backwards as if his spine couldn't hold him anymore.

John gave him a pointed look, did that stubborn creature really think that he will buy this? " No, you're not! You're feverish! I have to bring your temperature down." He said, his voice not allowing any excuses, and vanished from the room. 

A few minutes later he was back, with a glass of water, flask of ibuprofen and wet towel. He found his friend sitting on the bed in the same position he left him in, trembling from head to toes. His face was flushed and sweaty and the untidy nest of black curls stuck out of his head in all possible directions. 

The ex-soldier rushed to him, threw away the blanket from Sherlock's feet and wrapped his ankles in the cool cloth. 

Sherlock jerked when the cold towel met his hot skin, he felt cold even despite the heat his body produced. For the first time in his life, he didn't complain when John handed him the pill and the glass of water and obediently swallowed it. 

When the detective drank, John leaned behind him and fluffed out his pillow to make the bed more comfortable for the sick man. 

Sherlock drank down the whole glass, he didn't realise how thirsty he was until now. His head was full of the nightmare he just had, Magnussen's cracked voice still cut him in his ears, he still felt the leather belt whip his full round belly-

Something in his face must have caught John's attention, because he slid his hand behind his back, enfolded him in his strong arms and leaned on the headboard of the bed. " Sherlock? Hey, it's okay, come here..." 

Unable to resist an urge to return the embrace, Sherlock wrapped his doughy arms around his best friend and snuggled up to him, resting his head in the crook of John's neck.

He felt so pathetic for losing control over himself, but the nightmare felt so real! For a while, he really thought that he was back in Appledore, that everything was just a nice dream and he was still stuck with that psychopath!   
And the fever wasn't making things much better, his arms and legs ached with cramps, there was a ringing in his ears and buzzing in his head. He was tired, but he was scared to fall asleep to avoid another nightmare. 

" I'm sorry, John..."

A sob found a way out of Sherlock's throat and suddenly he couldn't stop the wave of emotion which he tried to suppress for too long.   
He pressed the back of his hand on his lips, horrified that he was about to burst into tears right in front of John! 

John had never seen him so vulnerable before. And why was he apologising, for God's sake? For losing his control? For being sick? For having a nightmare?

" It's fine, there's nothing to be ashamed for..." 

The weary detective felt heavy and solid against John's chest and his body radiated such a warmth the ex-soldier could feel it even through three layers of clothing. Sweat and tears started to leak through the soldier's striped jumper and John just watched the poor man tremble in chills, pain and embarrassment.   
His heart clenched at the sight of the ever-stoic man, whose brain has always been more important than his heart, lose control over his well-guarded feelings.

" It will be okay, I promise..." John cooed, rested his chin on the top of Sherlock's head and wrapped his arms tightly around Sherlock's wide waist, just holding him in a tight embrace. 

The rhythm of the detective's runaway heart started to return into its natural rate as he finally began to calm down and finally got his runaway breath in the control. 

" You have questions..." Sherlock muttered while clinging to John like a leech. 

John smiled, it seemed that Sherlock felt a bit more like himself. " A few, yes... But they can wait, you can tell me when you feel up to it, okay? You can sleep now, I will keep an eye on you..." He whispered and watched his friend's eyelids getting heavier and heavier until he fell asleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what do you think? 
> 
> I would squeeze our poor detective in my arms and cradle him back and forth in this chapter!  
I really hope that you're not angry with me, but I felt completely stuck with the story and it just didn't feel right to me.
> 
> Have a nice night without nightmares,  
Yours PaulineHolmes02 :)


	8. Stay at home... Or better not!

John woke up, feeling incredibly hot and sweaty, his black-and-white striped jumper stuck to his skin and clung to his torso like a magnet. 

Something hefty and warm was pressed against his body, entangled around his trunk like an octopus with its tentacles, and something soft and fluffy tickled his cheek. 

A bit disorientated John opened his eyes and found out that his arms were full of his flatmate. 

At first, he was a bit surprised before he remembered last night's events. He recalled the look Sherlock's face had when he woke up from the terror he experienced in his nightmare. He still heard his sobs in his ears as the detective clung to him and cried into his jumper. He felt the unnatural warmth that radiated from Sherlock's skin when he was falling asleep in his arms, feeling safe enough to dare sleep again...

An unknown strong feeling gathered in his heart as he stared down on the man in his embrace whose curly-haired head laid on his left shoulder.   
He has never been that close to him. Well, it was obvious, how many flatmates share a bed and wake up in each other's arms? But this was Sherlock Holmes, there was nothing obvious about him, about the most unpredictable man he had ever known... 

His friend was... gorgeous. The rays of the morning sun shone on his dark, almost black hair and painted brown highlights into his soft, messy curls. John smiled, he always wondered how Sherlock's hair would be like when he wakes up... 

What? Did he just admit that he was thinking about his friend's hair? MALE friend's hair? 

What was going on with him? He wasn't gay, he had never been interested in men before! Why did he feel this way then? Did it mean that - Well, even if it did, there was one significant detail. When they first met, Sherlock made himself very clear that he's not looking for a relationship, that he's married to his Work. And what was he, a sidekick and friend against Sherlock's _'wife'? _

Despite everything being said above, he couldn't force himself to tear off his eyes from him. 

He could see every pore on Sherlock's face, he could count every dark long lash which rested on his high cheekbones, he could observe every wrinkle on his pink lips... 

The sleeping detective huffed contentedly through his nose and his big hand with long thick fingers slid across John's muscular breasts. John shivered when Sherlock's warm breath fanned his neck, and the palm on his heart warmed him not just from the outside, but from the inside too. 

The movement made the air stir and John's nose caught remains of smoky cologne, the faint aroma of tea and quite a dominant scent of sweat from the effort Sherlock's body made to deal with the cold. 

It felt so unknown yet so familiar just to hold him like this. His left arm was wrapped around Sherlock's shoulders, while the other one rested on the side of detective's well-padded belly. Unwittingly, he caressed the soft mound with his calloused thumb and watched his hand rise and fall together with Sherlock's breathing. 

An urge to protect this man at all costs took hold of him when he stared at the big graze on Sherlock's left cheek, he will never ever let anyone hurt him again! He has always felt this way about him, but since he came back from being dead, he felt super protective of him. 

He knew that the detective was home now, safe and alive, but worries gnawed his mind. Something was definitely wrong, he could feel it in his bones that something very bad has happened to his friend. But what? John didn't want to force Sherlock to talk about it when the man didn't want to, but he couldn't let him suffer. 

He would lay there the whole day if he could, but his bladder began to demand a visit to the bathroom. 

In order not to interrupt the detective's well-deserved sleep, he carefully untangled himself from Sherlock's grip and released his legs from the jumble of their limbs which reminded him of headphones cable. 

With a last glance at his sleeping friend, he headed to the bathroom for a morning shower. 

* * *

When John returned to Sherlock's room with a cup of coffee and some breakfast, he found his friend sitting on the bed, freshly showered and changed into another pair of sweatpants, white t-shirt and his old blue dressing gown.   
It was the only piece of his former clothing he managed to fit in, relatively... The blue fabric clung to his engorged torso and made him look like an overgrown snake whose skin was about to slough off. 

But it was completely understandable that he didn't want to give up on it, it was the only piece of clothing which made him feel like himself. And God knew how much John wanted Sherlock to be himself again! 

" Morning! How are you feeling?" John greeted him and approached the bed where his friend rested, leaned against the headboard with a book in his lap. 

Sherlock raised his head from the page he was just reading to face his flatmate. " Hm? Oh, fine, thanks..."

John rolled his eyes and muttered something like 'Why do I even bother to ask.'. Then he put the plate down on the bedside table and handed the cup of energising liquid to his friend. 

" Thank you, John..." Sherlock said, gratefully took the mug and raised it to his lips to take a sip. Then he took a look at the doctor from head to toes. 

The short man wore skinny jeans and favourite oatmeal cable-knit jumper and the detective could see his checked shirt under the fair soft fabric. His face looked fresh and cleanly shavenand, but his posture indicated the backache and pain in his left shoulder. He must have stayed the entire night in his room, curled in the uncomfortable position...   
John usually dressed like this when he went out, but not for a date... Which could mean only one thing... 

" You're meeting Lestrade!" He commented when he was done with his deductions. 

The doctor nodded. " Yeah, Greg texted last night, he wants to talk about Mary..." He said and ran his hand through his hair, which was something John did when he was on the edge.

Sherlock took another gulp of black drink and then put it next to the plate with breakfast John has brought.   
" Oh... Are you okay?" He asked. She used to be John's girlfriend, he must have felt something towards her. The fact that she wasn't a woman he thought she was must have been quite a shocking thing to find out... 

John shrugged his shoulders, trying to act nonchalant, but Sherlock could tell that he was tense and nervous. " I'm angry and disappointed with her, but it's well-deserved!" He said and raised up his chin in a way soldiers brace themselves for a battle. 

'Oh, John, you don't know the half of it...' Sherlock thought bitterly, but he didn't say that out loud.  
" I'm going with you..." He said instead and put the book aside so he could get up from the bed. There was a sparkle in detective's heterochromic eyes in hope of getting the traitor who pretended to be John's nice girlfriend in the jail. 

However, Sherlock's excitement was quenched as quickly as it appeared when John pressed his hand on his soft pectorals to prevent him from standing up.   
" Oi, forget it! You're not going anywhere! You're supposed to rest, remember?" He exclaimed uncompromisingly and let his hand fall back alongside his body. 

" But Jawn... I want to go with you!" Sherlock whined theatrically and spread out his arms in indignation. Why John didn't want him? He needed him, he was the key to this whole situation, he knew things they didn't! 

But John didn't want to let Sherlock get his way, not today. Fortunately, he has lived with Sherlock Holmes long enough to be familiar with Sherlock's convincing techniques, he already knew what to expect from him.   
" Hey, don't Jawn me, you know it's not working on me... Yesterday you crawled into the flat on all fours, just in case you've already forgotten about that..." He remarked ironically. 

" Please, I'm dying from boredom! I need action, adrenaline pulsing in my veins! I can't just sit here, my brain rots from doing nothing!"   
The detective complained, he needed some distraction from horrible images of memories in his head! He wanted to feel like himself again, to solve crimes and chase criminals with his companion! 

He knew that days when he could wander around the flat in nothing but a sheet or wear his beloved skin-tight purple shirt which kept catching John's eyes every time he put it on, were gone...   
And his coat! God knew how much he missed it! He was no Sherlock Holmes without his coat collar and sharp cheekbones! 

But yesterday, when he stood at the crime scene again, he forgot about everything that happened to him... For a few moments, there was no Magnussen, no doubts about himself or fears.   
He wished he could forget again. 

John folded his hands on his hips and his normally calm voice raised in irritation at Sherlock's behaviour.   
" Enough, Sherlock! Look, I'm really not in the mood today. You can't go out like this, do you understand?!" 

A hurt expression ran across the detective's features and the look in his eyes hardened.   
" Oh... Well, if you don't want my company, you should have just said it!"  
He snapped and curled into a ball, turning his back at the doctor in a very familiar sulking position. 

As it seemed, the Yarders were right, weren't they? John was ashamed of him and didn't want to be associated with him!   
His hands gripped the blue silk fabric of his dark blue dressing gown and he clenched it in his fists so tightly his knuckles went white. 

On the other side, why was he surprised? It was quite understandable that John didn't want to be seen with him, after all, what use was he? 

  
John paused in a surprise and then realised what made his friend upset. The detective must have misinterpreted his words and thought that he didn't want to get seen with him, didn't he? 

The man in front of him worried him so much these days, he was so different from two years ago... Sherlock gave an impression of being nervous, moody and unsure, his insults were a poor imitation of his one-time affronts and he lost all his interests in experiments. John would be glad to open the fridge without being forced to find a severed head or other disgusting stuff Sherlock hid there, but not under these circumstances!

Bending down in front of the bed, the ex-soldier put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, the anger forgotten.   
" Sherlock, that's not what I said and I didn't mean it in that way! Look at me, please..." John said softly and waited for his friend to turn around. 

Sherlock rolled over on the other side and sat up, his eyes scrutinising John's face to tell whether he lied or not. 

The doctor was telling a truth, it was evident from the gentle look in his eyes. He put his hands on Sherlock's broad shoulders gave them a light squeeze to prove to him that he really didn't mean to insult him.   
" I know that you miss your Work, but is it really worth it when your health is at stake?" 

Sherlock closed his eyes and refused to say a word. For a while, there was absolute silence. 

And then... 

" You don't understand, John... I'm nothing without my Work!" The detective exclaimed as he opened his eyes and wrapped his arms around himself, digging his nails into his elbows. 

John just stared at him for a while, he needed a moment to process what he had just heard. His friend had just bared a piece of an issue which bothered him and John had no idea what to do with it.   
He would envelop him in his arms, but to be honest, it wasn't a good idea right now. Perhaps the physical contact could help him to relax, but it could also make the whole thing even worse. 

He sighed and rubbed Sherlock's shoulders in a way he hoped to be comforting.   
" You know, for a genius, you're extraordinarily stupid... Sherlock, I've never said those praises just because you solved crimes... You and your deductions are still brilliant, you just need a break, physical and mental... I almost lost you two times and I'm not letting you ruin yourself again because of some stupid case!"   
The soldier said in a firm voice and watched the tension melting from Sherlock's frame. He paused, giving him some time to digest everything he said before he continued. 

" Just stay here, please. I'll be home soon, I promise... And then we can just sit in our armchairs, drink tea or watch some crap telly, we can even play Cluedo if you want..."

The right corner of the detective's lips twitched at the last sentence. " I'd like that..." Then he gave him a little nod. " Okay, I'll stay here..."

" Thank you, Sherlock..." The doctor squeezed Sherlock's shoulders once more before he stood up and made his way to the door. 

* * *

The detective groaned as he bent down and took packages of frozen peas and corn out of the freezer. Then he rose up back on his feet, leaned against the kitchen unit and rolled up his white t-shirt to expose his stomach.   
His nose wrinkled in discontent with himself when he looked at the doughy, stretch-marked side covered by blue bruises, and he better pressed the package of frozen peas against his hip. 

As soon as the ice pack touched his pale skin, the pain withdrew, driven away by the sudden coolness. He let out a sigh of relief and closed his eyes, enjoying the moment of the painlessness. 

After a blissful while without feeling sore he opened his eyes and took a look at the clock.

A wrinkle of worry appeared between Sherlock's eyebrows, it was two in the afternoon, John should be back by now!   
Were they still at Scotland Yard? What could Greg and John discuss? John said he would return soon, what was taking him so long? Maybe they went for a pint?

Or something has happened to him. 

Sherlock loosened the grip of the provisional cold compress and the package hit the floor with a loud rattle, but the detective didn't pay attention to it anymore. 

Dashing to the desk, he opened John's laptop and typed his password (the doctor has finally given up his attempts to find a password Sherlock wouldn't solve).

He opened the Phone Tracker app and prayed for John's phone to be charged. _Maybe I'm just being paranoid, perhaps John's sitting Greg somewhere in a pub, drinking beer with Greg,_ he thought when waiting for an app to respond. 

A few moments later the map zoomed in and showed him the location of his friend and Sherlock's eyes widened in shock. 

The point where John stood was located in a blind alley, somewhere in the middle of the way to Baker Street. Even if John wanted to go on foot, he would never end up in that place. Unless... 

The look of pure terror ran across his face and his heart almost stopped beating as he realised what it meant.   
He grabbed his wallet and phone which both laid on the table and opened the third drawer of John's desk to take John's gun. 

Storming through the living room and descending the staircase, he dialled Greg's number. 

Lestrade responded after a second ring. " Sherlock? What's going on?" 

Sherlock raised his arm to hail a passing cab and practically threw himself on the back seat. **" Greg, dispatch the police force! John's in danger!" **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys! 
> 
> Another chapter is here, finally! It felt like ages for me to write this chapter, but I really enjoyed it, especially the part where they "cuddle", I love bed sharing stories :).   
I hope that there aren't too many grammar or autocorrect mistakes, if there are, I'm sorry :).  
Also, sorry for a cliffhanger. 
> 
> Have a nice day and stay safe and healthy!   
Yours PaulineHolmes02 


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